-‡- The winds blew from the north with the specklings of humans and a small mercantile town. It's name was unknown, because he did not have any human friends, and travelers this far north of Athart were known to be weary of lone, young, Avriels. There thus was a road nearby that he was able to see from high above earlier. When the layers of clouds were still in the skies, and the sun exuberated its' magnificent ploy of coloring into their floating presence. The air briefly gave him a few scents of something that was not of the jungles terrain surrounding him below.
High upon the perch of a tree, a limb large enough to bear his weight. Something had called to him, briefly in the air, and he'd chosen to pursue what it might be with a closer look to the surroundings below. With the high canopy of the jungle, the earthen floor was blotted out from view from the skies above. There were enough openings that he had found himself able to swoop around in circles, but in an area such as this one, it was even better to dive into their shadowing depths and see from within.
He was young still, having left Athart as the wildness of his youth had finally siezed him and driven him from the lawful strictness of society, the cultures of slavery, and the craven need to see what else the world had to offer. Perhaps there were greater things in other cities that could be enjoyed, in other fashions and mindsets. The idea, and stories he'd heard about were both phantasmal as well as enticing with danger. All the more so because he was alone. His departure, was nearly a week or so ago. And he had flown well away from Athart, towards a region away from the raiders, and the ire of the shadow wings. What was beyond?
Never the less, with the approaching darkness in the lowering midsts of dusk, there arose in the distance a clamor of noise. Voices could be heard with a vile of maliciousness. There were cries from a few women, and the familiar sounds of steel grating against steel. Men threatened one another at the top of their lungs, though there were not many involved. Excitement bristled its way quickly into his blood. Behind him, the burl of his wings flustered, unraveling at half their length where the edges of his wings were sent into a rhythm of tremors and anxious nerves quaking back alive.
He reached behind him and pulled free his longbow. The string for it he was quick to unravel from one of it's ends so he could bend it beneath the ire of a boot to hook it back together. The taut strength once again awaiting the notch of an arrow in only moments. Arrows that he'd reach for and untether. For in flight, they would be easy to fall out if unbound. A regal of breath was inhaled to calm himself, and gather his nerves. Telling himself that he did not have to get involved.
With a boon of his lithe muscles proudly bearing the surge of bravery coursing into his blood, he leapt off of the perch within the tops of the trees. He began to glide through the canopy through a partition large enough to accommodate him and his darkening blue wings. Here, and there he would land upon the length of a long unraveling branch. Ones he would quickly trod along with his feet until another opening through the maze of branches could be leapt through. With no fear of falling to the earthen ground below, he remained in the tops of the trees where most human eyes rose not to look about.
In the distance, as trees were passed, and the darkening overture of the tops of the canopy farther and farther above, the blaze of a fire suddenly erupted on the on the ground below. It lit up the view of the scenario. A carriage was aflame. The canvas encovering the wagon was feeding a flame that began to leap upon the contents within. There was a second wagon behind it. Bodies were strewn here and there, dark figures nearby with shimmering lengths of metal. Discarded weapons that were not well put to use by the hands that had wielded them.
There were only a few remaining people involved in the skirmish. The clashing of two steel blades continued to ring into the echoing hindrance of the trees surrounding them below. Whilst only a few others were scurrying about, pillaging this and that from the wagon before it'd burn completely, and it's treasures destroyed putting them out of what they felt they were due for the nights "work".
The distance was still too far for an arrow to reach a target. But, he saw no archers in their midst that would peck him off if he were to get involved. Perhaps one of the men at the wagons had one nearby. Something he would keep an eye out for. He though, was running out of time, and leapt into the air once again. His wings snapping outwards behind him to slow the descent and angle him forwards instead of dropping entirely in a downwards drop. A few more of such leaps and floating about drew him to a tree near enough that his arrows would not break through foilage and branches before they'd reach a target.
Lithe dirt smodden digits pulled one of his arrows from behind him. The tautness of the bowstring was tested and reknown to his strength and his ability to pull it towards his shoulder as far as he could and hold it whilst he aimed. He had been trained with the bow when he was younger, and was allowed to use it to learn to hunt game before he'd taken off and set out on his own. He thus, was rather skilled with it, and had learned how to aim well enough to take a moment or two to discern where the winds were.
With his natural Avriel ability to see the current of the winds. Another resolve was perhaps leant upon as he thought upon his meddlings with the arcane. In the far distance below, he watched the way the flames upon the carriage were leaping about, and for a moment, they flickered in a westerly direction. He pulled his aim slightly to the east, then loosed his fingers. The long shaft of the arrow whirled through the air. The angled feathers glued upon it twirling it constantly through the distance. He tested his aim at this distance, waiting to see if it would strike through. He watched as well as the winds stirred, and blew it as he predicted it might towards the west. But only so much, as the breeze was not constant, and it barely made it's mark.
One of the men who was alone, more in the darkness than the light of the fires had been stooped over someone else, the darkness concealing him at particular angles. But he'd made himself enough of a stationary target. A target that suddenly fell forward onto whatever it was that he was busying himself with. A second arrow was drawn as his mark was noted. Narrowing eyes watching the winds beyond to eye them for a change. They seemed to calm down after his arrow flew through their midsts.
One of the men near the wagons suddenly hefted up something, a box, or crate that must have held something of value. He hurriedly took it away from the glowing inferno that another man was still trying to salvage through without burning himself. Sights were taken, and as soon as the first man lowered the box to the ground and began tinkering with it to get it open, he knew he had a target. The arrow was loosed into the air. Another whirl of the shaft as the longbows strength sent it sharply through the air at an arcing angle that ended up being off, and merely tore through the ankle of the man instead of his torso above. He nearly missed. Yet the length of the arrow had gone through the mans' flesh and muscles to pin him to the ground where he was kneeling. And suddenly began rioting against the pain as he reached behind him for the arrow, and twisted himself about in agony. He began garnering the attention of his companion at the back of the burning wagon, and perhaps a few of the others nearby. One of the others who'd been fighting one of the remaining defenders of the wagons suddenly lost his life to a blade. The distraction of a pinned and wailing companion having been enough to time a deathly blow.
Another arrow was fumbled from his quiver, cursing himself for missing entirely. He blew his surprise upon the marauding party below. But his location was still unknown, for now. The twine of the bowstring clipped his ear as it was pulled too close, and shifted the cowl encovering his head. When he loosed the arrow, it nipped at the fabric, tugging it momentarily with it's flight. A flight that he sent through the air, it was then, that his attentions were upon the winds again, and not upon his still budding marksmanship. Winds that he watched, and wondered if there was an elemental about to come to his aid and make the aim deadly. The air around the wagon began to fester, and distorted the area around it as the air itself fumed and smoked. Perhaps, for the briefest of moments, some of the smoke took on the appearance of some spirit or demonic head, but only for a moment as it bellowed and dissipated into the air surrounding it.
As soon as the arrow neared the pinned target. A current picked up, sending it off course instead. Nicking the mans' arm causing a spout of blood to take flight into the air as flesh was torn. He began to hope he would not run out of arrows. Another was taken out, a more sturdy aim was taken. This time relying more on his skill than on the deviations of magic. The man was jerking at the embedded arrow in the grown to free himself, and nearly pulled it miraculously free as another of his friends neared him, picking up a bow of his own from the ground as he approached. Coroths' next arrow flew through the air. Snapping the pinned man from consciousness as his body twisted and dropped heavily.
It was then that the human archer took aim of his own. Discerning with a probing eye the area that the sniping was coming from. He quickly hastened to reach the base of a nearby tree for cover, and search him out in the ires of darkening dusk. Another scream of agony erupted as the now lone defender killed off another of the marauders. The defender himself was bleeding profusely along his side where his clothing was darkened with the glistening of blood that the fires illuminated along with his bearded features. A long sword was within his grasp, a sword that he hefted into the air above his head for another blow as he heedlessly ran towards the wagons as if to protect them, or something within them. A holler promising of death was reverberated into the air. The vibrations watched against the currents of the fuming smoke drifting above.
There were quite a few bodies strewn about at that point. It seemed the survivor had been underestimated in his abilities with a blade. The bowman near the tree gave up the near futile attempt to find the the threat above and took aim at the nearer of the two. It was as the remaining man at the back of the wagon had been taken by partial surprise and had fallen onto his haunches that the descent of the longsword could be watched whirling beneath the illuminating fires of the wagon as it took the mans' life. One blade breaking beneath the ferocity as it was held up by both hands to parry the blow with a blade perhaps too rusty, or made of too poor of a quality to be put to such use.
An arrow whizzed through the air from above as Coroths aim had sent it to reach the revealed archer below. A breath was drawn in and held as it made its' descent, the winds had remained calmed during his aim, and he'd dared not even think about the use of magic, knowing to himself that the elemental lurked nearby, wanting to meddle and toy with him if he asked to intervene again one way or another.
The arrow clipped the archers bow instead. Passing through it as it was held aloft, and causing it to flip out of the man's grip. The shambling of the bow sent the man to the ground, holding his body that had got hit by his own weapon. A shout could be heard of pain and curses lowered into whisperings as he made to crawl back out of sight before he'd be struck a second time.
Coroth then determined he was spending more time determining if he was accurate, and could already be taking out another arrow and aiming. Such was hastily done. Each mark had held some fascination upon its' impact. As if he wanted to watch every moment pass by, for these were the first moments he'd actually killed someone. The first sheddings of blood.
It was afterwards, that he saw no one else walking or rushing about. Perhaps there was no one else left alive, save for those who were distantly whimpering or groaning in the last virtues of their health. He decided he would need to descend to see more, and where his last target had crept off to. And he would need to be sneaky about it. =‡=
