Chapter Two: The Heat of Battle
Dillon burst into action; his sword immediately coming from it's sheathe. He heard the city come alive with the roar of battle. He navigated his way through the screaming women and children trying to escape the massive horde that had just landed on their doorstep. Moments later he found himself running beside fellow knights, rushing to perform their duty. He wanted to ask how many there were, though he knew that the knights, too focused on helping their comrades, would not answer.
The group sprinted when they saw the gates, the few guards stationed at that post being overrun and overwhelmed by the orc invaders. The group rejoiced as they saw that most of their friends were still alive. Though, the knights that did not survive the first wave would justly be avenged by the grief-stricken companions in the group.
Dillon was in the front of the group, he himself being one of the faster runners, and slammed into the nearest orc that came charging towards him. He slashed and cut furiously, his mind focused on the heat of the battle. He watched as orcs fell at his feet, one by one, leaving them in his wake. He had never felt this way before, the surge of energy running through him; it was as if he was possessed. Something in his mind just clicked. It made him faster, stronger, and his mind raced quicker than he had ever experienced.
He did not know what was happening, and slowly his fellow knights began to take notice. They watched as he took on three orcs simultaneously, and disposed of them moments later. The knights were inspired by Dillon somehow. His courage and bravery made them fight even harder. Dillon was amazed, this small group of no fewer than sixteen was holding off the invading orcs. But as time faded and the battle raged on, more and more knights began to join in on the fight.
Dillon was dumbfounded by his own prowess, his role in the battle dealing greatly with the knight's morale. But, as if fate had turned against him, he found himself smothered with feelings of fear, anxiety, and an overwhelming pain in his gut. Dillon looked down, thinking he was struck by an arrow. He stared blankly, seeing no arrow, nothing that had penetrated his seemingly invincible defenses. He glanced ahead, his eyes coming upon an orc, a rather powerful orc by the way he was crushing his enemies under his enormous broad sword.
What's making him feel this way? He wondered. Dillon had never been afraid of any enemy he faced, though most of them were only orcs, goblins, and trolls. He felt as if the life was sucked out of him, his limbs went numb, his sword nearly dropping to the ground from his loosened grip. The orc, the general of the army, Dillon reasoned, took note of the knight's constant stare and fearful expression. The orc slowly walked towards Dillon, knowing that it would find pleasure in killing such an easy prey.
Battle erupted around the wood elf as he left his room. Chaos, it seemed, came knocking. The town's defenders were already overwhelmed, the orc mass nearly slaughtering the heroic combatants. Elrandir's eyes darted frantically looking for some measure of hope. They came upon a small padio like structure that stemmed off the main road. The padio itself contained the controls for the town's bridge, which was retractable for just these types of situations.
Elrandir looked back to the wood elf accompanying him. "What is your name?" The wood elf's shoulders visibly slouched, being disappointed that the famous Elrandir did not know his name. He had thought the two of them friends for some time, though, an exchange of words while he was buying supplies hardly granted a true friendship.
"Daronel, sir," he quickly blurted, not wanting to waste any more precious time.
"Daronel," Elrandir went on, "do you think you can get to the bridge controls?"
The wood elf followed Elrandir's pointing finger, understanding his undeniable logic.
"You're wanting to retract the bridge and stem their ranks!" Daronel reasoned. Brilliant, he thought to himself. Now he understood why Elrandir was so highly praised. Not only was his battle prowess commendable, but his strategy was uncanny! Daronel now looked upon this great wood elf in a different light. Oh, how he will love telling the story of his fight along side Elrandir later on.
"Yes, now can you get to it?" Elrandir reiterated, his voice showing his slight frustration with the awestruck elf.
"Oh, yes, of course the bridge." Daronel stammered as he looked past Elrandir's shaggy auburn hair and towards the bridge's controls. The path from their current position to the controls was littered with orcs though most of them were concentrated near the bridge itself and the path to the controls. The elf visibly blanched as he thought of fighting his way through the orc forces alone. He glanced back to see Elrandir's stern hazel orbs gazing back at him.
He came back to his senses. He remembered his duty to the village and his duty to his people. The blood came back to his face as a fire was set in his brown eyes. This was, in fact, his duty.
"Yes," the elf said determinedly and an appreciative smile covered Elrandir's face.
"Do not worry my elven friend," Elrandir said comfortingly as he slid his longbow from his back, "your back will be well guarded."
Lorana could barely believe herself at this moment. She was standing just outside the docks, her hood and cloak still about her with a map in hand. She was not even ten minutes out and already she was lost.
"I knew that old man didn't have a clue about Luskan," she silently criticized to herself as she looked down to a poorly drawn map, undoubtedly the old man's work. The map was not even of Luskan, the curves and jagged lines resembling the streets with small uneven boxes that were meant to be the buildings. From the shoddy design and the wide open gaps between the different buildings, Lorana didn't even think it was of a city in Faerun.
She looked around absently like a child down the many winding streets of Luskan. She had never truly been to Luskan, but she had often been told by her father and other siblings, who were sailors along the Sword Coast, how the city is a dangerous place to be new to. She tried as hard as she could to hide the obvious fact that she was lost. Though, to every onlooker, it was as clear as the sun in the sky.
He eyed the woman with the utmost curiosity, bringing another bite of his apple to his lips. His glistening black hair, neatly trimmed, his deep black eyes almost shining as brightly as the moon in the dark, starry sky. His skin was pale, reflecting the moon's light on his face and hands. The rest of him though, was dark. The leather armor needed for one of his trade.
"Lost?" He asked the woman openly from his perch on a tall cargo shipment. He cut another bite from his apple with his dagger and brought it to his lips. Lorana nearly jumped from the sudden break in the deafening silence of the Luskan docks. She glanced at the shadowy figure, holding fast to her father's words.
"And if I am?" She asked harshly, the intense tone a rare occurrence with the light-hearted sorceress, "I doubt it is any of your concern."
"Oh, but it is my fair maiden." The dark figure said, jumping down from his perch. He landed without making a sound, his soft boots with their padded insoles cushioning the fall. Lorana took notice of the quiet landing, which in her mind could only make this man one of two things: An elf, or a thief, and she hardly thought he was an elf for he did not have the tell-tale ears of an elf. "Such a beautiful woman as yourself, walking the dangerous streets of Luskan all by your lonesome? A bad combination by my standards. Worse even if you are lost."
"You underestimate this beautiful woman," Lorana mocked with a smile. She held her staff tightly, readying herself for the attack.
"No I do not my fair maiden," the figure commented, "or should I say, my fair sorceress?"
Lorana visibly tensed, to the figure's delight, at the sudden loss of her hidden advantage. How had he known? She thought to herself. She had kept herself well hidden, her cloak and hood close about her.
"It seems your reputation precedes you," the figure went on, "Lorana SkyHeart." The figure finished the statement with a bow, bringing his cloak behind him, revealing his other concealed dagger lying on his belt. The figure threw away the apple core he was eating, cleaned off his dagger and sheathed it on the other side of his belt.
"How did you know?" Lorana desperately asked.
"I have a beneficial relationship with the dock master," the figure replied, "Besides, I know the Phyxsius and it's crew, and for them to carry a passenger free of charge is a rare occurrence."
"But how did you know my name?" Lorana questioned.
"That is a question for another time perhaps," the figure said ominously.
There was a long silence, the statement enlisting a small fearful thought in Lorana. Another time? She thought to herself, the image of the man ambushing her with a group of thugs. She would defend herself of course, but by overwhelming odds or the slow tire of time, they would capture her. For what, she dared not to wonder. They could kill her, or sell her into slavery. The thought sent a shudder down her spine. She woke up from her deep thoughts to find the figure's intense gaze locked upon her.
"Where is the nearest tavern?" Lorana stammered, the gaze affecting her more than she was willing to admit.
The figured pointed down the street behind Lorana and replied, "First on the right. It's cheap but it's welcoming."
Lorana glanced behind her, quickly returning her gaze towards the dangerous figure. But he was no longer there. All that was left was the shadowy black of the docks. Lorana quickly turned and headed for the tavern, not wanting to linger any longer. Her fears hastening her steps.
The shadowy figure lurked close behind.