Possibility

Raelag, the Clan Lord of Ygg-Chall, and the leader of the band of Dark Elves in the area, turned out to be a talented warlock. And though this was a good thing, with the hordes of enemies they had before them, he was annoying and unbearable. Even if Findan was a Wood Elf who loved peace above war, he couldn't help feeling entertained by the thought of smashing the said warlock's sneering face into a pulp.

What was worse, Zehir had assigned the two elves to take care of what was left of the undead together. At first he was enraged and was sorely tempted to thrust his bow into Raelag's smirk, but then he regained his composure and accepted the request…though begrudgingly. And what angered him more was the conversation that had taken place as soon as they both left the encampment with just a few creatures to watch their backs.

"So Findan…aren't you homesick at all? I mean, you've lived all of your life in Sylvan territory, with plentiful of creatures you're accustomed to." Raelag was the one who started the conversation, turning his head to the side to look at his companion.

"Homesick? Mind you, these lands are as good as that of my homeland. Besides, I'm doing this for good reasons, so I'm not complaining." Findan replied casually.

"Complaining…weren't you the one who almost flipped when Zehir said we were working together, and launched into a full rant afterwards?" taunted the warlock, and the elven ranger shot him a glare.

"I did not attempt a back flip or whatever!" he cried exasperatedly. "And besides, who wouldn't complain? Stop grinning at me like that, you troublesome git!"

Raelag chuckled at that, whipping his giant lizard to walk faster before Findan could bring out his bow and bombard him with arrows.

They stopped by a stream to refill their water skins and to rest their armies. Still seething, Findan ushered his troops to the river bend, and so did Raelag, while still grinning that sexy smile of his…Findan shook his head vigorously, disgusted by the thought. How could he think of that bastard that way? It must be the sun. Finally resting his case, he left for the forest to gather something to eat. But before he could turn to leave, however, Raelag said something that stopped him from going.

"I'm going to get some berries," he announced to everyone, and both Dark and Wood Elven troops turned their attention to the Clan Lord. "Everybody stay here. It would only take me awhile, and soon after we mush them into good berry juice, we set up and leave for the ambush tomorrow. Any questions?"

Findan gritted his teeth and called out, "Raelag, I was going to do that."

The reply was a sort of grin and a quick hand gesture, beckoning him to say that to his face. Findan was more than happy to do so. The troops watched quietly as their two leaders approached each other and stared at the other's sneering face, Raelag's a look of triumph, and Findan's a look of dire repugnance. The tension between the two elves was overwhelming that some of the army had already backed away from the two.

"Come again?" Raelag asked, leaning backward a bit- just a bit, since their noses had been touching at the contact.

"I. Was. Going. To. Do. That. Myself." Findan whispered dangerously, word by word, as if the warlock wouldn't understand. The grin on the Dark elf's had disappeared now, replaced by a look of loathing- which reflected the facial expression upon Findan's own. "You moved too late, pretty boy." Was the warlock's reply, and immediately an eerie hush fell over the camp. "Were the butterflies too much for you?"

It happened in a spur of a moment, before the army knew it; the two Elven leaders were strangling each other on the floor, rolling around like a wheel. There were times when Raelag was on top, spreading his dark silky hair over Findan's face, and the Wood elf would quickly put an effort to reverse the wheel, since he had Raelag's hair in his mouth, and that was truly unpleasant. The same could be said for when Raelag would be the one beneath, but it would take him an even greater time to turn over, since Dark elves were lean creatures, less physically tough compared to the Wood elves. After some time of pointless grunting and tangling of limbs and frequent changing of positions, a shadow matriarch and a High druid approached the battle. It took the two creatures a few attempts before they were able to successfully pry one Elven leader from the other, with the additional help of some Minotaurs and Ancient Treants. The two finally-separated elves were heaving greatly, still glaring daggers at each other. The troops shook their heads at the two, knowing for a fact that there was nothing to be done about their feud- which was true, since dogs always hated cats, as the saying goes.

It took them a whole hour to settle the dispute, ending the argument with the agreement of both leaders going to pick the berries together, since it was faster and was what both had wanted to do. Once the two had left, the chief druid turned to the shadow matriarch and sighed. "It would take a miracle for both to become good friends." He said quite sadly, and the matriarch laughed openly. "What more would it take them to become pleasant acquaintances at least?"