After placing the thousandth arrow in a quiver that evening, all Navarion could think of was burning them all to the ground. It was only through some miracle that the few others working alongside him at the supply warehouse were just as bored and thus just as receptive to light conversation. There wasn't much else to do, considering the fact that many of them had begun working extra shifts and the preparations for war - always out of the prying eyes of civilians - were surprisingly unexciting. For every soldier directly on the battlefield, there were two more behind the scenes hauling supplies, maintaining the barracks and the food distribution area and simply handling the logistics of it all.
And there the four of them sat. For whatever reason, they had been broken off from their normal units, and Navarion found himself along with Calil and two other males in the supply room arranging the gear of the archers so they wouldn't have to worry about it when it came time to march.
"I don't see why we have to keep the preparation phase secret from all the civvies," Calil mumbled while a quiver strap on one of the many pegs sticking out of the wall. "They already made the announcement for an eradication campaign last week."
"Extermination," the first of the other two young men, an apprentice Druid a little shorter than the others, corrected him.
"Whatever it's going to be called, I don't see why we have to hide away and arrange all the equipment and supplies during the odd daylight hours."
Choir being preached to, nobody responded other than grunts and nods of approval. One could only arrange quivers and stockpiles of arrows so many times before the need either for silence or meaningful conversation seeped in. If nobody had any ideas that were worth telling, most just nodded silently and carried on.
Light conversation occasionally broke out every so often. During the hours they spent arranging full quivers for what must have been the entirety of the Sentinel Army and Air Force, there were instances every so often where somebody would need another pile of arrows scooted their way, somebody would accidentally break one and need a place to hide the evidence, or someone would need to be covered while taking a break. The two men Navarion hadn't met before were quiet enough. One of them, a medium infantryman, appeared to be older and perhaps had been one of the barrow den guards or a clerk during immortality. The apprentice Druid couldn't have been any older than Calil. Both of them seemed content to just carry out the task, however.
Calil, on the other hand, was rather chatty by the standards of elves.
"Did you guys hear Thresha playing at the market last weekend?" Calil asked the others. He sounded like he was just trying to pass the time, though his eye gleamed a little bit when discussing his secret crush.
The older man grunted again while continuing to pack quivers, his back resting against the wall as they all sat cross legged on the floor of the wooden warehouse. The Druid, similarly young and perhaps on the chatty side, jumped in before Navarion had to in order to give the young soldier an opportunity to possibly work out whatever simple feelings he was probably over complicating.
"Oh, a few of the ladies gave that impromptu musical performance, right?" the apprentice asked while struggling with a quiver strap that just wouldn't become unwrapped from his arm.
"Yes, they didn't plan it or anything!" Calil responded jovially, his silver eyes lighting up like a child's. "Apparently one of the merchants had these tambourines from Feralas she was trying to show off, so she let one of the huntresses play on it to test it out. Captain Soraya kind of glared at them at first but they were off duty, and even she started to play!"
At that, both Navarion and the older infantryman looked up. "Captain Soraya...seriously?" the half elf asked incredulously.
"No he's right, I remember seeing one of the captains playing a flute next to the others," the apprentice chimed in. "This real serous, stern looking woman. It was quite a sight."
"Thresha had this trumpet...I've never seen anything like it up close. Just in pictures from a textbook, something about the orchestra in Darnassus," Calil said wistfully, perhaps not realizing how much he let his feelings show. "She played so well that I actually bought it for her afterward, but she doesn't know it was me."
Not noticing the slip, the apprentice Druid continued to marvel at the sight of one of the captains behaving so casually. "I think I remember Captain Soraya from the announcement for the extermination campaign. She came off as so...uptight." The young man looked around the room as if they were being monitored, obviously a little inexperienced and possibly conservative in terms of respecting authority. "Everybody got such a kick out of it when she started playing, like it was a big deal."
"I didn't see it, so I almost don't believe it," Navarion chuckled in response, loosening up and no longer minding the task so much. These seemed like a good bunch of guys.
The older soldier continued his slow movements. Clinking against the arrow shafts from time to time, a silver engagement ring matching the color of his eyes shone brightly. Looking up at Calil, the more weathered soldier asked him a sincere, unassuming question.
"So are the two of you getting married, or did you just recently get together?"
The apprentice took no notice at first, but Navarion observed carefully and saw how poor Calil tensed up and started to blush. Although he was caught off guard, he only had himself to blame - he was the one who had brought up the topic.
"Oh...what? No, no, that's not it at all," Calil sputtered quickly, trying and failing to brush the subject off. "We're just friends is all."
"Those imported trumpets aren't cheap," the older infantryman remarked casually. "Those usually aren't bought for people who are just friends." He didn't seem to mean anything by the comment and was overall a pleasant man to work with, but his words left Calil feeling very exposed.
Rather than jumping in to save him from embarrassment, Navarion took the opportunity to push the young man just a little harder. "You should ask Thresha to have dinner with you at one of those restaurants where you can win desserts by playing in those trivia games. You know, like the new one they just grew not far from one of the inner city streams. Then you two could go for a walk along the bank of the stream afterward. It would be a great way to spend time together."
The older soldier hummed his approval. "This guy gets it," he chuckled.
Instead of being relieved, Calil looked mortified. "But...no, I can't do that!" he protested, though he clearly found himself at a loss for words.
"Why not?" the apprentice asked innocently. The young Druid was fighting a losing battle with a stack of arrows that had become hooked together at the heads, and he didn't even bother looking up to notice Calil's panicked reaction.
"Because if I ask her, she might say no!"
At that, Navarion found himself unable to spare Calil's feelings much longer. At least they were away from people he knew well, especially anybody who could potentially tell Thresha about the conversation. The guy needed a bit of a bigger push. "Then stop talking to her."
"Talking to her about what?" Calil asked.
"Cut off from her completely. Stop talking to her, don't hang out with her and make up excuses if she ever wants to be around you again."
Even the Druid looked up, the two younger men clearly confused. The older infantryman continued organizing quivers but remained silent; Navarion could sense that the ms probably knew the point he was trying to make but didn't feel it his place to speak up due to not knowing any of them very well. Calil looked mortified once more, terrified of the prospect of telling Thresha how he felt and terrified of the prospect of losing her.
"Wh...why?"
"Look, it's simple." Navarion laid the quiver he had been filling to one side and scooted forward once he had Calil's attention. "She's great, you're smitten. I get it. But you complicate the matter and make it into a bigger deal than it really is. It isn't supposed to be that complicated. If you want to be more than friends and she doesn't, then either you have to get over it or cut off. You seem to like her so much to the point where you're experiencing heartache every time you see her, which neither you nor she can control but that's how it is. So cut off from her. If you can't stop obsessing over her but you won't make a move, then remove yourself from her life and her from yours."
"But if I cut off from her, she might be offended!" Calil protested as strongly as he could despite his soft spoken nature. He became flustered by the harsh suggestion and was clearly trying to find reasons not to follow it rather than actually considering it. "If I stop talking to her, I might lose her as a friend!"
"Then lose her as a friend; there's a world full of people to be friends with," Navarion replied nonchalantly, trying to show Calil that he was taking the matter too seriously. "If you really get to the point where you're buying her expensive gifts but not telling her because you're too shy, you're basically just setting yourself up for total heartbreak whenever she does find someone else." Calil looked hurt by the words, but Navarion felt it necessary for him to hear and finished. "Either take the risk and ask her out, and understand you'd be asking her to only one date and not to actually be with you, or stop torturing yourself by hanging around somebody who you only feel pain and longing to be around, however unintentional that is on both of your parts. Because as much as she doesn't owe you her affection, you also don't owe her your friendship."
Crestfallen, Calil slumped against the wall. Even his arrow bundling stopped, and the group of four men in a wooden room fell silent for a few long seconds. Perhaps sympathizing with Calil's plight, the Druid tried to cheer him up.
"You know, if you like her so much I'll bet she might quite like the idea of going out with you, too. A lot of times the right person is waiting around and you just didn't realize it before. Maybe that's her situation." Well intentioned as the Druid's words were, he didn't know the background of the situation or how Calil felt as if Thresha viewed him as some sort of eunuch, and the young soldier only nodded outwardly while his heart sank inwardly.
Sensing that, Navarion tried his best to lessen the sting without sugar coating anything for him. "Look, women aren't all that different from men and their minds aren't as complicated as you might think. When it comes to affairs of the heart, just treat people with respect, be honest and follow the three rules."
The older man laughed with his mouth closed but didn't say anything when Calil looked his way. Not getting any answers there, he turned back to Navarion. "I've never heard of that."
"Well, they're a modern invention, really. A few of us first began passing them around during the Twilight Wars against all those cultists a few years back."
"Well, what are they?" the apprentice asked, just as concerned as Calil.
"Alright, and remember these because they're rules for life," Navarion joked, marveling at the irony of how seriously Calil looked when he leaned forward to hear, forgetting the advice to not take matters so seriously. "First of all, value yourself and value others. That's one rule, not two, because respect is a two way street."
"Okay, that one's obvious," Calil replied a bit flippantly. "The others?"
"Slow down, we're getting there. So the second one is to not ever fall into the friend zone unless you're comfortable being there. If you want something more and the other person doesn't, then wish them all the best and find other people to hang out with. Otherwise, you're just asking for heartbreak."
Calil looked even more downcast at the second piece of advice and the young Druid looked uncomfortable as well. As if wanting to support the other more experienced person, the older soldier bowed his head in agreement while continuing to work.
Opening his mouth and then closing it, the Druid appeared to disagree but didn't quite know how to word it. Not wanting to give either of them a chance to argue with advice that he knew to be true from experience, Navarion jumped into the third rule without waiting for them to acknowledge the second.
"Last but not least, never hook up with virgins."
After a few seconds, Calil understood what Navarion meant and his face turned bright purple. Like most elves, he had clearly matured later than the younger lived races and may very well have never been on a date or felt the caress of a woman before. They tended to marry a bit later, were devoted and monogamous afterward and never spoke of intimacy beforehand. At least, not the men, who tended to be a bit conservative; after overhearing a nearly traumatizing conversation between his sisters and godmother as a teen, Navarion knew Kaldorei women were a bit different, though nowhere near as raunchy in their conversations as human or troll women.
Much the same case did the apprentice Druid find himself in, though unlike Calil he didn't even appear to understand what exactly Navarion meant.
"Hook up?" the apprentice asked curiously. "Hook like...is that a kind of dance?"
"Dirty dancing, if you want to call it that," Navarion stated, his tone controlled to keep the humor subtle.
Calil only blushed even more and the older man started to laugh out loud. "Hook up means to have sex," the quiet infantryman explained.
Both of the younger men blushing now, the air in the room felt very still. Calil only looked down as if he wished he could just shadowmeld in plain view, quite clearly embarrassed beyond belief. The apprentice, perhaps just as sheepish but speaking openly only because he didn't know the others, tried to deflect the subject.
"We, um...this isn't a usual topic for conversation," the young man mumbled. "It's best saved for the bedchambers."
"Fair enough, but just keep those rules in mind," Navarion laughed. He wasn't mocking them - he was mature enough to no longer equate having sex with being a man - but he did feel a sort of appreciative, almost nostalgic humor at the restrained nature of younger pureblooded Kaldorei. "Because one thing's for sure: a woman who's never been touched by a man before doesn't need you irreversibly changing the course of her life. Not unless you're really ready for something more, in which case it wouldn't simply be hooking up. So don't pursue them, or I guess in your cases, take things slow and don't rush into anything," he explained to the two embarrassed virgins sitting across from him.
For a while longer, the conversation died down and the four of them had lined the pegs covering the twelve foot high walls of the small warehouse from top to bottom in fully stocked quivers. While more experienced archers preferred to keep their own quiver and arrows, the younger women often had only a simple bow to their name and would simply arrive at the warehouse when it was time to march, grabbing whatever quiver was nearby and available to them. Though for the true greenhorns, they often would need to borrow a bow from the next storeroom over, too.
The four of them were only halfway finished counting all the quivers and arrows - Captain Soraya would actually want a written count - when a drop in air pressure signaled that spirits were trying to speak to Navarion. Ears pricked up, the shadow hunter tried to listen - his voodoo was still undeveloped enough such that he could only feel physical changes from their presence if they bore serious news.
"Something is wrong," he whispered to the older soldier, though loudly enough for the others to hear.
"What? What's happening?" the apprentice asked, though the two older men ignored him and honed their long ears to listen for any disturbances.
Far, far off in the distance, the ding of metal rang out. Normally it wouldn't be a cause for alarm; sentinels were always sparring at various times of night and day, and the occasional dropped crate or slumping sabre at the quarter for shipping and cargo unloading tended to cause quite a bit of noise as well. But the half troll's voodoo whispered to him without being asked, and that wasn't good. The metal sound wasn't normal.
The buzz that came afterwards, faint but audible enougn for all their sensitive ears to hear, confirmed that an attack was afoot.
"Silithids!" Calil hissed, scrambling for his glaive near the door.
The older soldier, also medium infantry like Calil, only wore light mail and carried a glaive, requiring no shield. Grabbing Calil by the shoulder, he stopped his medium armored counterpart and motioned toward the two others. "Let them go first," he advised strongly.
Navarion knew the drill. He also wore only medium armor but was much larger than pureblooded elves and had inherited a bit of his father's regeneration; much like his old man, he could function as a meat shield if necessary. The apprentice Druid was shorter than the others but was, technically, a guardian Druid and could shift into the form of a bear. A sort of smallish bear, but a bear nonetheless, and thus also a meat shield if not quite a tank. The young man had already shifted before they were all out the door, dusk having already fallen upon the city. The supply quarter of the city was right next to the waystation where mounts were tended to and cargo was unloaded and stored, and thankfully they weren't far from the gate where the commotion came from; at least whatever was attacking the city hadn't come from multiple sides.
The four of them turned onto the main road leading through more trees that formed storage units as well as regular trees, running toward the gate in the western wall. Clangs of metal were joined by more buzzing, battle cries and the screams of civilians and they found themselves joined by a contingent of hooded archers running toward the exit as well. Through the gate, all they could see was a crowd of merchants and locals running into the city, too horrified to stop and explain what was going on. Once again, Navarion was shocked at how sedentary the night elves had become; civilians had been unknown to his mother's people for millennia, and the sight of Kaldorei in plainclothes fleeing for their lives rather than turning and fighting was a far cry from the stories of a warrior society living in the woods that he had grown up with.
The buzzing grew louder once they reached the veritable tunnel leading through the naturally raised stone walls, the panting and cries of the civilians echoing against the more muffled shouts, screeches and chitters from around the corner. A few brave Tauren attendants tried to calm the kodos in the pen visible from inside the tunnel, and at least one dead bug lied near the gate of the pen, stomped to death by one of the caravan animals.
When the amalgamation of infantry, archers, one bear Druid, a feral Druidess that had showed up out of nowhere and the single shadow hunter exited from the gate and turned to the left, they all saw what had happened.
Up and down the rampart next to the city wall, a group of regular enlisted sentinels - all of them the sort of inexperienced, low ranking youngbloods that tended to be stuck with wall patrol - clashed against the more numerous and unfortunately better organized silithids. These weren't the bloated, slow moving tunnelers that had been stinking up the beach or digging the mounds; these were wasps, the offensive attack force of the silithids. Aggressive, fast and comparable in size to a worgen, they were completely airborne but were large enough to pose a threat without the need to swarm. Throwing caution to the wind they cut through, the wasps tended to dive right in rather than playing the waiting game by pecking and then fleeing, and the relatively inexperienced group of twenty or so sentinels appeared overwhelmed by the kamikaze attacks of the foolhardy insects. At least half the young sentinels were injured - the wasps, thankfully, fought by slashing rather than poisoning - and they proved unable to fall into formation properly against the group of forty or so silithids attacking from above rather than head on.
Captain Soraya had already rushed forward, taking the lead before even the heavily armored infantrywoman behind her could raise her tower shield. Not saying a word, the captain tossed her glaive, cutting one wasp in half and slicing off the wings of another before the tri-bladed weapon bounced back to her flawlessly. Arrows flew from the archers behind the group of reinforcements, and the wasps turned upon the more dangerous enemies as the inexperienced sentinels that had been guarding the wall huddled together in a defensive formation, visibly relieved to no longer bear most of the aggro of the enraged silithids. The wingless wasp was quickly cut to pieces by the exhausted youngbloods, leaving the new arrivals to deal with a few dozen airborne attackers.
Not even needing to be instructed by Soraya, Navarion began casting down his wards around the archers. A few of them winced at the presence of voodoo in the ranks of the Sentinel Army, but none of them refused the protection provided by the stasis traps, and at least two wasps were slammed into the ground before the surprisingly intelligent insectoids realized that the wards created an impenetrable barrier. Their thick carapaces proved an effective form of armor and many of the arrows only served as an annoyance once they pierced the exoskeletons of the wasps. The glaives of the handful of infantry were much more effective, slicing through wings and downing the wasps ar a rapid pace. The razor sharp appendages of the wasps were deadly weapons but useless for walking, and once on the ground the downed bugs were easily picked off by the battered but suddenly more confident youngbloods. The apprentice Druid and the heavily armored huntress who reminded Navarion of his mother in her battle armor both roared and shouted to distract the wasps, though a few proved smarter than the others and ignored the bait. An arcane explosion rang out just as the highborne Mage from the men's barracks fell to the smarter of the wasps who noticed his cloth armor.
Springing forward, Navarion tried to cast his heal spell in the mage's general direction, but without being able to see how he had been hurt specifically the shadow hunter knew there was little he could do. The mage's staff was knocked from his hand and arcane missiles fired off indiscriminately, temporarily throwing the ranks of the sentinels into disarray. Soraya bellowed formation commands to compensate but the wasps capitalized on the chaos that ensued from the random arcane explosions, and at least one foolhardy young sentinel as well as the apprentice bear Druid wandered a little too far away from the others and were quickly knocked to the ground by at least four clinging wasps each. Navarion as well as one of the more magically inclined archers cast healing spells in their direction as well, though again, without being able to see their wounds up close it was impossible to know how effective their spells actually were.
More sentinels broke formation to pounce on the clinging wasps directly and pull them off of the three downed comrades, leading to more of the wasps to dive bomb the mess of both mammalian and insectoid fighters. The archers stopped shooting, not wanting to hit anybody with friendly fire, and even though the wasps were dying fast their savagery only increased as they noticed they were no longer being pelted with arrows. Soraya hung back, trying in vain to direct both some of the sentinels to intercept the oncoming silithids still in the air and others to drag the swarming wasps off of the infantrywoman, mage and bear Druid before it was too late. Scanning the scene, Navarion realized that the three casualties were too far apart for him to use his big, bad voodoo spell and make all three of them temporarily invulnerable at one time, nor were there enough of the more heavily armored sentinels to protect him while he started the war dance he needed in order to cast it.
Steeling his nerve, he continued to rotate among the three dog piles of people and bugs, casting his heal spell at comrades he couldn't even clearly see in an attempt he knew was largely in vain. The spirit of the highborne Mage slipped from the man's body, definitely screaming to Navarion as the taciturn silver-haired elf spitefully rejected his own death and refused to pass on contentedly. Navarion had no idea if the feral Druidess or any of the archers knew a resurrection spell - those took years of training and were exceedingly difficult to pull off - and the wasps that had been dragged off of him and gutted were replaced by more. Virtually none of the silithids remained airborne at that point; with the archers protected by a stasis trap, the brave but frazzled and exhausted youngblood hanging back a safe distance and the remaining infantry busy doing damage control, the spiteful but smart wasps focused on dropping straight down onto their three downed targets, latching onto the valiant sentinel, Druid and mage's bodies and limbs with their pointy stingers, legs and jaws.
No longer needing to do much direction once all but a few of the silithids had landed, Soraya charged in as well, dropping her glaive, grabbing silithids by the wings and pulling them off of the fallen fighters with her bare hands. Largely immobile once on the ground, the wasps merely thrashed their sharp limbs upward once they were dragged away, though once flipped onto their backs - which was easy to do when they weren't in the air - their strikes lacked power and were easy to predict. The youngbloods took those Soraya and the others dragged off of the screaming sentinel and Druid, venting their anger as they cut the bugs' wings, limbs and stingers off and then left them to die slowly.
Mana nearly burned out from all the barely accurate, blind healing, Navarion tried to focus on what little he could do while trying not to think about the mage he and the sole archer who could also heal hadn't been able to save (the other archers left the safety of the stasis traps once they shot down the last flying wasps and worked at pulling the wasps off of their fallen comrades). Several of the sentinels who had been at work dragging the thrashing wasps away had been hit by stingers and pedipalps in the process, but Navarion focused on the sentinel and Druid he couldn't see, leaving those who were wounded but still standing to wait; they weren't fatally injured for the most part and the younger ones could do with a lesson on how to tough out the pain.
Finally the last of the wasps had been pulled away from their target, and Navarion felt a pang of nausea as it ripped a lump of fur, fat and flesh from the bear Druid as it was yanked away. The feral Druidess who herself had been rather seriously hurt during the fight shifted back to elven form, ignoring all her own cuts and scratches and casting some status spell other than healing on the bear Druid while other elves knelt over him and held on to his limbs. Spirits telling him that the Druid was alive but somehow altered, abnormal after the fight, Navarion didn't interrupt whatever the feral Druidess was doing to him and held back his healing spell.
When a male sentinel collapsed, gasps from the youngbloods and a curse form Soraya rang out and Navarion joined her to see what was wrong.
Turning his body over, the half elf realized it was the older infantryman from the warehouse who had been stocking quivers full of arrows with them. At some point during the melee to save the fallen soldiers, a stray wasp limb had slashed his throat; he couldn't breathe and was losing blood fast, and Soraya had to yell at the younger recruits to back off. The sheer number of soldiers who were even younger than Navarion was staggering, and they lacked the focus and stoicism his mother had always described in her stories. And just like his mother and her hyperirritability, Soraya quickly lost her patience with the younger elves who found themselves at a loss for how to help.
The archer who knew a healing spell squeezed in between Navarion and Soraya, hovering over the male sentinel as well as the female who had been the first to fall to a dive bomb attack. She was much younger than the male but similarly armored. Though she wasn't bleeding as fast as he was due to the severed arteries in his neck, her wounds were much more extensive and painful looking since she'd been pinned under half a dozen silithids for at least two minutes - a very, very, very long period of time when one is being mauled by multiple assailants and unable to fight back. Every piece of flesh left exposed by her medium armor was torn, and one of the wasps had managed to wedge its stinger into the gap of armor between her breastplate and steel belt. Her breathing was shallow and weak; the male's gasps were harsh and desperate.
"I'm out of mana," the archer said to Navarion as her heal spell fizzled out; she remained strong like all night elves, but just barely as her voice wavered.
When a few of the younger sentinels murmured amongst themselves nervously, Soraya lost her cool once more and shouted at them more harshly than was necessary. Ignoring her, Navarion tried to summon up what little mana reserves he had. The spirits told him it was too late for the female; her wounds were too deep, the stab wound in her stomach had led to vital organs being hit and her soul had already begun to slip. Unless a team of healers along with someone who could resurrect just in case were teleported to their position right at that very second, there was nothing that could be done for her. In all of his years as a secondary healer, however, he had never quite mastered the delicate act of actually telling that to people out loud; a healer was supposed to dramatically expend all their mana reserves to the bitter end no matter what. It was unprofessional and a waste of energy, but such was the norm for most adventurers.
Before he could even try, the glow faded from her eyes and several sentinels cried out in shock. He felt her soul pass out of her body though not entirely on, as if she were waiting for something; if anybody else could feel it, they didn't let on and mourned in the tearless, low key manner Kaldorei tended to have. Unlike the way Alliance or Horde races might react, nobody blamed him or the archer which at least helped him to relax a bit given the tense situation.
Her male counterpart grasped his throat in one hand and the hand of the dead female next to him in the other. Eyes shut tight, his chest heaved a bit as his body fought to breathe but the man had largely regained his self control despite the heavy blood loss. The mana burned archer stepped back, granting Navarion and Soraya space as he tried to charge up his voodoo to heal the man's throat, though the outlook wasn't good; both carotid arteries had been severed and the wind pipe was cut. Ignoring the glow of his own palms, Navarion ran over his mental list of steps to save the man: he'd need to ignore the blood flow which would sound like a roaring river once he channeled his spell, mend the tissue from the inside of the arteries first and then seal the top and the skin last, physically pull the upper and lower part of the man's neck together as he worked internally to 'weld' the neck flesh back together-
"Hey," he mumbled as a hand soaked in blood gripped his wrist, giving everyone around a shock.
Blood flooding the area below the man's neck and soaking into his hair, he held on to Navarion's wrist weakly before the healing could commence. The soldier's own eyes flickered, their glow affected as his life drained out of him but his mind still lucid and clear. Eyes now opened but lips pursed, his eyebrows furrowed into what seemed to be a silent plea as he tried to shake his head. Before he could push the man's hand aside and scramble to try and save him, Navarion noticed the tightened grip on the fallen female's hand; her engagement ring matched his.
Dumbstruck and frozen, Navarion continued to kneel over the man but allowed the glow to fade from his own hands. Calil, who was standing near by, gasped but other than that they were met with silence as the blood spilling from the man's neck dried up to a trickle. Little by little the glow from his eyes disappeared until two blue irises surrounded by the normal whites common to most other races remained, and Navarion carefully closed the man's eyelids. The hands of the two fiancés remained clasped together even when he felt the man's spirit pass on - voodoo didn't let him see it physically, but rather feel it in another sense - and join the spirit of the woman, who had been waiting until he joined her. They quickly disappeared to wherever people go when they die, and Navarion could sense what didn't quite reach the level of joy within the two souls but did sense that they were content to leave the world if they left together. Were it not inappropriate given the situation, Navarion would have smiled.
There was little time for anybody to reflect on the two sentinels who had chosen to stick by each other in life, in battle and in death. A large number of those who had survived - all but three, which was remarkable given the sheer number of the elite silithid attackers - were greviously though not fatally injured. Even the shadow hunter himself noticed a sting across his upper back and arm where, while he was throwing out healing spells,ma stray wasp had cut under his chainmail and through his leather jerkin without him even taking notice.
"A little help," the feral Druidess stated shyly, not wanting to look like she needed help.
But when Navarion turned around, he saw that she definitely did; the cuts she'd endured when in cat form weren't numerous but they were deep. The two sentinels holding her by the arms and basically propping her up each had holes punched in their armor, and the youngbloods who had bore the brunt of the initial push were not only beyond the point of exhaustion but largely scratched, stabbed and beaten to the point where many had trouble standing.
Captain Soraya ordered them to take a seat along with the surviving Druidess; the guardian Druid, conscious but stuck in bear form and partially traumatized, had to be dragged by five people next to the others.
Navarion leaned close enough such that only she could hear him. "Three casualties after being ambushed by forty someodd of the silithid elites; it isn't altogether that bad." He didn't entirely believe the words himself, but he detested the disappointed look on his commanding officer's face and didn't know how else to cheer her up. Slightly embarrassed at needing to be cheered up by one of her subordinates in the first place, Soraya nodded and patted him on the arm in thanks, needing a few seconds to compose herself before addressing the expectant soldiers.
"Calil, fetch her a mana potion," Soraya ordered while motioning to the archer who could cast a healing spell.
"Yes ma'am!" the young sentinel replied. The fact that the captain specifically tasked him with something lifted his spirits a bit and he sped off.
Soraya turned to the others, their faces grim but not totally dejected. "There were no civilian casualties or lossess of property despite the cowardly attack comprising several dozen of the silithids' best warriors," she addressed to the crowd as formally as she could. "Our three allies here are to thank for that; we need to bring them to the temple for the last rites." Turning to Navarion, she lowered her voice despite not needing to. "Please provide basic healing to the best of your ability; I'd prefer it if all those here could be present at the temple, which means they won't be available for extensive healing until a bit later."
"Yes captain," he sighed, feeling the burn from his lack of mana and knowing it would be a long night.
There wasn't much else to say. Soraya eschewed giving any sort of speech or eulogy, and doing so would have cheapened the loss of three good people anyway. Once the troops had been healed enough to walk, the two engaged sentinels and the mage who never told anybody his real name were carried through town and on to the temple in a makeshift procession. Even though no civilians had been hurt, the locals and merchants appeared quite shaken, and Soraya even banned non-military personnel from attending the farewell ritual at the temple. The attack had been relatively small in an objective sense, but it signaled that the conflict was much more serious than simple bug extermination by the beach.