"Infiltration and Elimination" | Tirro, Azula, Yucilon, Ita, Raiwen
1215 AT (Ashnuw Time)
Tirro crouched in the shadows of the alley, pressing his back against the soot-stained building. He was near a factory in the coal mining district of Bergenstaat. At thirteen, his elven body was already tall and muscular. He peering around the corner, watching the street calmly. Any minute now...
A man stepped out of the factory and into the alley, pulling out a bottle that was hidden in his boot. He was sweating and his hands were shaking as he uncorked the bottle, tipping it upward to let the amber liqueur drain down his throat. Tirro watched curiously. Never had he seen a man down whisky that fast, despite having hung around the underbelly of this mining community for several months. The elf shifted backward and deeper into the shadows, scuffing the dirt with his bare feet.
The man spun around unsteadily at the sound, then coughed and spat when he saw Tirro. “Eh! What’s an elven brat doing ‘round here? Go back to the desert where you came from an’ leave us alone. You’ve been making trouble up at t’capital and it ain’t doing us workers no good, I tell you!”
Tirro stood silently, glowering at the man.
“Well, why you ain’t saying nothing? Brakla! Away! Brakla you Muk’laga!” Infuriated by the silence, the man lunched forward drunkenly and swung his fist.
Tirro deflected the blow easily, and the man sprawled in the dust. He stood over the drunk, still silent, and placed a foot on his neck. He leaned over and whispered, “You filthy people have taken everything from me. You took my family, my people, and my future. Nothing can repay that. Not even your death.”
The elf reached down and felt around in the man’s pockets, taking his wallet and identification papers. Straitening, he kicked the man lightly. The inert form didn’t move, passed out from intoxication.
“Well done.”
Tirro spun around, startled that he hadn’t heard anyone coming. A tall elf stood erect in the alley, a blue cloak draped about her shoulders.
“Who are you?” Tirro asked.
“An elf. Isn’t that enough? I knew your parents, so after they died and you disappeared, I came to look for you. Come with me, I know a place for you.” She extended a hand adorned with a single silver ring. The same ring that had hung over the mantlepiece in his one-time home.
After a moment of hesitation, Tirro Akren took the hand.
1700 AT Rain dripped from the trees, slowly soaking the four elves that lay concealed in the underbrush of a forest. They lay motionless, waiting for the right moment. The tramp of boots sounded in the distance, moving nearer and accompanied by the rattle of armor and clank of weapons. A patrol. Headed directly toward the camp of the motley wanderers. Blue tunics emblazoned with the erect sword of the Sanctified clad the soldiers as they marched past the hidden elves. As soon as they were past, Tirro and his companions fell in behind them unnoticed. Azula Loneleaf led the way, her twin daggers darkened to avoid any reflection. The patrol shouted as they caught sight of three figures: a dragon-like creature, a very tall humanoid, and an elf. Tirro glanced at Azula, waiting to see if they would engage on behalf of their elven cousin. But no. Not yet, at least. The three fled down the path, followed by the incensed soldiers. Soon they ran into the camp of the assassin, Ananias, and his comrades. Blades flashed in the dim light as the encampment rallied against the soldiers. The soldiers were in a tight formation, preventing the defenders from attacking effectively. “Flanks! We need to get around them!” Ananias cried, and three figures made their way around to the side of the Sanctified. Yucilon Glaive, the oldest of the elves, caught Azula’s eye and nodded. The four elves sprang up and joined the fray, stabbing and slicing the soldiers with ease and precision. One, two, three fell before Tirro before he ducked beneath a halberd to deliver a killing blow to the unprotected gap between the armor and helm of the last standing Sanctified. Then all was silent. The elves carefully wiped their blades and sheathed them. “Who are you?” Azula replied, “We are here to help. The Sanctified have captured one of your own, true? They have one of ours as well.” Ita Switsong, a young and dedicated elf, had been taken by the Sanctified. Raiwen Swiftsong, her sister, was with the rescue party. Ananias objected strongly at first, but an elf in their group was instrumental in convincing him to let the Blue Cloaks accompany them. Under the cover of fog the united party crept, the Blue Cloaks leading the way. The humans made twice as much noise as the rest, of course. Azula led them to a hidden entrance to the stronghold—a tunnel that led under the walls and into the cellar of the fort. Everyone crowded into the narrow space, making about as much noise as a herd of cattle. Annoyed by the slow progress of the group, the Blue Cloaks and a human assassin named Tovian went on ahead. They managed to slip past the first several guards undetected and hurried down a hallway, leaving Tovian to help the others along. They quickly found the offices of Baldwin and picked the lock. “Go.” Yucilon muttered while closing the door. The four elves tore through the room, flipping through books, searching drawers, and breaking locks. Tirro hissed under his breath, frustrated. Nothing. Only a few personal notes. The plans for the Rectifier... surely they were here somewhere. A several of those filthy humans burst into the room, acting like a herd of spooked cattle. Someone asked what they were looking for, but the elves passed it off easily by saying they were ‘looking for important things’. Idiot humans. After a few more minutes of fruitless search a knock sounded on the door. Tirro moved next to the doorframe, waiting. “M’lord? Your majesty?” A muffled voice called from outside. Silence. “Sir? Are you in there?” An indiscernible conversation took place outside, then a key was fitted into the lock. Tirro tensed, and Azula nodded.
Fifteen minutes later the four elves crouched in the eve of a building, listening to the sounds of battle rise several buildings away. “I have an idea of where the plans might be, but I have to go alone. You go free Ita,” Azula whispered. Yucilon nodded, and she slipped away into the fog. Tirro watched as a bit of trailing blue fabric slid out of sight. He had known Azula for over two hundred years now—they had met just before his marriage. He respected her zeal for the cause, having seen her devotion to the betterment of all elves firsthand. She had worked tirelessly to ensure the success of this operation—all of the entry points, routes, and targets were carefully selected. Raiwen gestured toward a door that stood ajar. “Here, this room is empty. It looks like a organization center of some sort. Maybe there’s a map of the fortress.” They combed the room, casually eating several pastries that were set aside for the officers. After a few minutes Raiwen uncovered a ring of key and a sketch of the fortress—probably for the benefit of a messenger. “Ah! There is it. Let’s go.” They were soon crouched outside the door of the prison, obscured by the shadow of an overhanging porch. Someone was shouting inside the prison, but his words were indistinguishable. Baldwin du Lac stormed out, trailed by two guards. “Idiots! Do they not realize their position?” As soon as they were out of sight Tirro pulled a pin from his sleeve—its slightly crooked end fitted snugly into the lock. Raiwen eagerly pushed the door open and they stepped into the room. There was only one cell here—apparently it was for ‘special’ prisoners. Ananias and his companions were locked in there, but there were three figured chained outside of the cell. Sukoshi, the Kokkan who was trained by the deserter Archard was tied onto a hard cot. He was sweating and feverish from either a wound or illness—it was impossible to tell. Sir Guiscard, a knight of the Martyrs, was hanging by a chain from the ceiling. Ita Swiftsong, Raiwen’s sister, was crouched in a corner, pale and emaciated. Yucilon quickly dropped to his knees beside Ita and Tirro handed him the keys. Ignoring the protests of the other prisoners, Raiwen supported her sister to the door, but paused as her other companions addressed the prisoners. Yucilon gestured toward Maki and Aranauh, the only two elves among Ananias’ motley crew. “Come with us. Leave these humans and half-breeds and join your elven cousins.” “Never!” Maki shot back, “We would never desert our friends!” “Oh, come now. We both have seen generations of men live and die—they all go the same way. Corruption, greed, and petty squabbling. Nothing good had come of that race.” “But not these! They’ve proven themselves.” Tirro stepped forward, his eyes flashing. “Yucilon lived during the Pale war. He saw the carnage that the humans wreaked—they were weakened by greed and self-interest and thus deceived by Pale. The greatest horror this world has seen was caused by humans, and yet you dare stand up for them? They are like children, squabbling over pretty trinkets and betraying trust at the first sign of danger. My birthplace, Bergenstaat, has only risen above this because of its elven government.” “Again, will you not come with us?” Yucilon asked, “Join us and help rid the world of this pestilence.” “No!” Frustrated, Tirro and the two sisters left the room. As a final, vicious gesture, Yucilon sliced the prone Sukoshi across the stomach before following. The four elves fled at quickly as they could while Raiwen supported Ita. Fog still lay heavy on among the buildings, providing excellent cover. Azula dropped unexpectedly from a rooftop, landing lightly beside Ita. “Ita. Its good to have you back.” They briefly embraced, and Azula whispered in her ear, “We will get you out of here.” After a brief council they began to return the way they had came, retracing their steps toward the cellar. They often had to go far out of their way to avoid squadrons of running soldiers and made slow progress. Finally they retraced their steps far enough to return to the offices of Baldwin. They had paused behind the building in a secluded area to gain their bearings when they heard it. “There they are!” The assassin, Tovian, had somehow escaped prison and spotted them. The group of adventurers, accompanied by a patrol of Sanctified, charged the Blue Cloaks. Tirro glanced at Azula for orders. The reply came back: fight. The five elves immediately sped forward, dodging the first rank of spears and polearms. Tirro grabbed the haft of one weapon and pulled the soldier close. “Scum!” He spat, and drove a dagger beneath the man’s ribs. A feeling of intense calm came over Tirro, unlike anything he had felt before. Cut, stab, dodge, freeze, thrust, cut, repeat. Centuries of training paid off as his reflexes responded to every threat. He tripped a soldier and cut his throat. More soldiers poured into the alley from both sides, cutting off any hope of escape. Two Sanctified replaced every one that fell, and soon bodies were heaped on every side. Dodge, stab. Someone shrieked to his left, and Tirro watched Ita Swiftsong fall under a human blade. Such brief freedom. Raiwen flung herself at her sister’s killer, beheading him before she, too, was impaled. Yucilon fought grimly, backed against a wall. He won’t last long like that. Once the spears move in, he too will die. Thrust, parry, kill. The rhythm of death pounded in his ears. Screams, moans, and the clash of steel combined in a gruesome symphony. Jump, slice. The haft of an axe cought Tirro in the chest, knocking him backward. Is this how it will end? Finally consumed by the same disease that killed my family and people? He forced himself up. Hack, stab, kick. Both daggers were imbedded in the abdomen of a soldier when Tirro looked up to see yet another Sanctified bearing down on him with a halberd. The long iron spike was aimed directly at his chest. The impact slammed Tirro to the ground, the spike driving through his body and into the blood-soaked soil. So this is how it ends. I expected that, I suppose. Humans are like ants—individually they are powerless, but in swarms even the strongest will fall before them. I hope I have done my part in ridding the world of this pestilence. I hope my children will devote themselves as I have... The last thing Tirro saw was a ray of white light piercing the fog before darkness enclosed and smothered him.
1700 AT Rain dripped from the trees, slowly soaking the four elves that lay concealed in the underbrush of a forest. They lay motionless, waiting for the right moment. The tramp of boots sounded in the distance, moving nearer and accompanied by the rattle of armor and clank of weapons. A patrol. Headed directly toward the camp of the motley wanderers. Blue tunics emblazoned with the erect sword of the Sanctified clad the soldiers as they marched past the hidden elves. As soon as they were past, Tirro and his companions fell in behind them unnoticed. Azula Loneleaf led the way, her twin daggers darkened to avoid any reflection. The patrol shouted as they caught sight of three figures: a dragon-like creature, a very tall humanoid, and an elf. Tirro glanced at Azula, waiting to see if they would engage on behalf of their elven cousin. But no. Not yet, at least. The three fled down the path, followed by the incensed soldiers. Soon they ran into the camp of the assassin, Ananias, and his comrades. Blades flashed in the dim light as the encampment rallied against the soldiers. The soldiers were in a tight formation, preventing the defenders from attacking effectively. “Flanks! We need to get around them!” Ananias cried, and three figures made their way around to the side of the Sanctified. Yucilon Glaive, the oldest of the elves, caught Azula’s eye and nodded. The four elves sprang up and joined the fray, stabbing and slicing the soldiers with ease and precision. One, two, three fell before Tirro before he ducked beneath a halberd to deliver a killing blow to the unprotected gap between the armor and helm of the last standing Sanctified. Then all was silent. The elves carefully wiped their blades and sheathed them. “Who are you?” Azula replied, “We are here to help. The Sanctified have captured one of your own, true? They have one of ours as well.” Ita Switsong, a young and dedicated elf, had been taken by the Sanctified. Raiwen Swiftsong, her sister, was with the rescue party. Ananias objected strongly at first, but an elf in their group was instrumental in convincing him to let the Blue Cloaks accompany them. Under the cover of fog the united party crept, the Blue Cloaks leading the way. The humans made twice as much noise as the rest, of course. Azula led them to a hidden entrance to the stronghold—a tunnel that led under the walls and into the cellar of the fort. Everyone crowded into the narrow space, making about as much noise as a herd of cattle. Annoyed by the slow progress of the group, the Blue Cloaks and a human assassin named Tovian went on ahead. They managed to slip past the first several guards undetected and hurried down a hallway, leaving Tovian to help the others along. They quickly found the offices of Baldwin and picked the lock. “Go.” Yucilon muttered while closing the door. The four elves tore through the room, flipping through books, searching drawers, and breaking locks. Tirro hissed under his breath, frustrated. Nothing. Only a few personal notes. The plans for the Rectifier... surely they were here somewhere. A several of those filthy humans burst into the room, acting like a herd of spooked cattle. Someone asked what they were looking for, but the elves passed it off easily by saying they were ‘looking for important things’. Idiot humans. After a few more minutes of fruitless search a knock sounded on the door. Tirro moved next to the doorframe, waiting. “M’lord? Your majesty?” A muffled voice called from outside. Silence. “Sir? Are you in there?” An indiscernible conversation took place outside, then a key was fitted into the lock. Tirro tensed, and Azula nodded.
Fifteen minutes later the four elves crouched in the eve of a building, listening to the sounds of battle rise several buildings away. “I have an idea of where the plans might be, but I have to go alone. You go free Ita,” Azula whispered. Yucilon nodded, and she slipped away into the fog. Tirro watched as a bit of trailing blue fabric slid out of sight. He had known Azula for over two hundred years now—they had met just before his marriage. He respected her zeal for the cause, having seen her devotion to the betterment of all elves firsthand. She had worked tirelessly to ensure the success of this operation—all of the entry points, routes, and targets were carefully selected. Raiwen gestured toward a door that stood ajar. “Here, this room is empty. It looks like a organization center of some sort. Maybe there’s a map of the fortress.” They combed the room, casually eating several pastries that were set aside for the officers. After a few minutes Raiwen uncovered a ring of key and a sketch of the fortress—probably for the benefit of a messenger. “Ah! There is it. Let’s go.” They were soon crouched outside the door of the prison, obscured by the shadow of an overhanging porch. Someone was shouting inside the prison, but his words were indistinguishable. Baldwin du Lac stormed out, trailed by two guards. “Idiots! Do they not realize their position?” As soon as they were out of sight Tirro pulled a pin from his sleeve—its slightly crooked end fitted snugly into the lock. Raiwen eagerly pushed the door open and they stepped into the room. There was only one cell here—apparently it was for ‘special’ prisoners. Ananias and his companions were locked in there, but there were three figured chained outside of the cell. Sukoshi, the Kokkan who was trained by the deserter Archard was tied onto a hard cot. He was sweating and feverish from either a wound or illness—it was impossible to tell. Sir Guiscard, a knight of the Martyrs, was hanging by a chain from the ceiling. Ita Swiftsong, Raiwen’s sister, was crouched in a corner, pale and emaciated. Yucilon quickly dropped to his knees beside Ita and Tirro handed him the keys. Ignoring the protests of the other prisoners, Raiwen supported her sister to the door, but paused as her other companions addressed the prisoners. Yucilon gestured toward Maki and Aranauh, the only two elves among Ananias’ motley crew. “Come with us. Leave these humans and half-breeds and join your elven cousins.” “Never!” Maki shot back, “We would never desert our friends!” “Oh, come now. We both have seen generations of men live and die—they all go the same way. Corruption, greed, and petty squabbling. Nothing good had come of that race.” “But not these! They’ve proven themselves.” Tirro stepped forward, his eyes flashing. “Yucilon lived during the Pale war. He saw the carnage that the humans wreaked—they were weakened by greed and self-interest and thus deceived by Pale. The greatest horror this world has seen was caused by humans, and yet you dare stand up for them? They are like children, squabbling over pretty trinkets and betraying trust at the first sign of danger. My birthplace, Bergenstaat, has only risen above this because of its elven government.” “Again, will you not come with us?” Yucilon asked, “Join us and help rid the world of this pestilence.” “No!” Frustrated, Tirro and the two sisters left the room. As a final, vicious gesture, Yucilon sliced the prone Sukoshi across the stomach before following. The four elves fled at quickly as they could while Raiwen supported Ita. Fog still lay heavy on among the buildings, providing excellent cover. Azula dropped unexpectedly from a rooftop, landing lightly beside Ita. “Ita. Its good to have you back.” They briefly embraced, and Azula whispered in her ear, “We will get you out of here.” After a brief council they began to return the way they had came, retracing their steps toward the cellar. They often had to go far out of their way to avoid squadrons of running soldiers and made slow progress. Finally they retraced their steps far enough to return to the offices of Baldwin. They had paused behind the building in a secluded area to gain their bearings when they heard it. “There they are!” The assassin, Tovian, had somehow escaped prison and spotted them. The group of adventurers, accompanied by a patrol of Sanctified, charged the Blue Cloaks. Tirro glanced at Azula for orders. The reply came back: fight. The five elves immediately sped forward, dodging the first rank of spears and polearms. Tirro grabbed the haft of one weapon and pulled the soldier close. “Scum!” He spat, and drove a dagger beneath the man’s ribs. A feeling of intense calm came over Tirro, unlike anything he had felt before. Cut, stab, dodge, freeze, thrust, cut, repeat. Centuries of training paid off as his reflexes responded to every threat. He tripped a soldier and cut his throat. More soldiers poured into the alley from both sides, cutting off any hope of escape. Two Sanctified replaced every one that fell, and soon bodies were heaped on every side. Dodge, stab. Someone shrieked to his left, and Tirro watched Ita Swiftsong fall under a human blade. Such brief freedom. Raiwen flung herself at her sister’s killer, beheading him before she, too, was impaled. Yucilon fought grimly, backed against a wall. He won’t last long like that. Once the spears move in, he too will die. Thrust, parry, kill. The rhythm of death pounded in his ears. Screams, moans, and the clash of steel combined in a gruesome symphony. Jump, slice. The haft of an axe cought Tirro in the chest, knocking him backward. Is this how it will end? Finally consumed by the same disease that killed my family and people? He forced himself up. Hack, stab, kick. Both daggers were imbedded in the abdomen of a soldier when Tirro looked up to see yet another Sanctified bearing down on him with a halberd. The long iron spike was aimed directly at his chest. The impact slammed Tirro to the ground, the spike driving through his body and into the blood-soaked soil. So this is how it ends. I expected that, I suppose. Humans are like ants—individually they are powerless, but in swarms even the strongest will fall before them. I hope I have done my part in ridding the world of this pestilence. I hope my children will devote themselves as I have... The last thing Tirro saw was a ray of white light piercing the fog before darkness enclosed and smothered him.
All characters here were played by real people. I played Tirro, The Rain and the Wind as Azula, Drew as Yucilon, Tsukiko Hoshi as Raiwen, Kate as Ita, ThatGuyOverThere as Ananias, and Commando Chipmunk as Maki. -Time Scholar
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