76th year of the age of Arnaud.
Summer had yielded to a crisp autumn in Aventra. The forest trail was littered with orange and red leaves beneath almost barren oaks. Only the eerie white barked draugr pine with its needles dark as night retained its foliage in the shift of the seasons. Markos inhaled the cool air as he knelt down beside some broken brush. He noticed the faint smell of fresh blood mingling with the fallen leaves and torn earth. He was certain that the stag had gone this way.
Its coat was a remarkable snowy white, a Kirikal that was valued once for its magical properties but its presence in the forest heralded doom. They only appeared when the Great Dragon started to wake and the aphotics started to rise once more. It was a part of the cycle or so Markos had been raised to believe. General Marius de Arand wanted the kirikal's death to come at the hands of his oldest son, Emilio but it the young Lord's shot had only grazed the beast.
His golden eyes scanned the brush ahead of him. It was part of his duty as one of the squires in service to the household to assist in the hunts. He was a talented tracker and was often selected to accompany the General on his hunts. He felt the wind shift in his favor as he rose. A stray leaf fell onto his head and he brushed it from his raven black hair with a soft sigh.
'Best to move quickly, even if I put the poor beast from its misery, Lord Emilio will get the credit,' he shifted the weight of his breech loaded rifle's strap over his shoulder and cautiously moved forward into the brush.
Broken foliage and the sway of branches led his into a copse off the beaten path. He heard rustling of the underbrush and picked his steps carefully. He was downwind of his approach as heavy draugr pine wafted past him. He searched for a silhouette among the pines as something snapped a branch. He crouched low as he drew the rifle to his shoulder. Maraium shot had been offered to the participants of the hunt to penetrate the magical hide of the Kirikal.
Tufts of fur caught on the branches and the renewed scent of blood mingled with the crispness of the river. He wasn't sure when he had ventured so far into the forest to happen on the river. Brush gave way to tall grass in a clearing. He paused to make sure that his cap was in its place, and slowly cocked the hammer back on his rifle before he peeked around one of the larger trees into the clearing.
The white stag stood at the edge of the clearing, the pure sheen of its coat marred by a blossom of crimson at its side. Its horns were freshly mottled, which meant it had been born a little out of season, and it stood at the edge of the clearing gingerly sniffing the air. The beast's ears perked for a moment and it froze, slowly looking around. Markos marveled at the sight. A majestic creature of legend.
Letting it live meant the aphotics would come for it as they desired the flesh of magical creatures as much as they desired the flesh of all living beings. He wondered what mercy would cost the people of Aventra. He was caught in the moment between life and death, between decision and indecision as he held his breath.
The stag trotted forward into the brush beyond the clearing. The birds chirped softly overhead as the wind rustled through the canopy above him. The sunlight warmed his shoulders as he took in the moment. He started to squeeze the trigger when a loud snap and a splash caused his quarry to flee into the brush once more. He inwardly cursed.
A chorus of girlish giggles and more splashing pulled his attention towards the river as he eased the hammer back. If there were village girls so far out washing clothes on the shore, it was better that he hadn't taken the shot. If he had missed, he could have injured them. Maraium shot was meant for magical creatures and sorcerers but it was still as deadly to normal people as normal lead shot. He stared after the stag and then towards the sound of feminine life. He was sure that he'd be able to track the stag again.
There were no houses this deep in the forest. And it was too far for most village girls to come. He always acted honorably towards the women at the manor. Female knights were rare but many served the General in defense of the territory. There had been no war in years but they still maintained a standing army. Even still, female knights were a possibility but he didn't think they would come out this far to bathe.
'Why would anyone come out this far?' He wondered as he quietly moved towards the noises. If he got caught, it'd be a serious breach of etiquette and his captain would punish him for it. But, he had gotten separated from the hunting party - surely, no one would punish him too severely for stumbling on some ladies where there normally wouldn't be?
It didn't take long to find the mystery women. Markos Louvel crouched at the edge of the forest, nestled beneath one of the low-hanging pine branches. He curiously pushed a few boughs aside to peer past them, confident he was invisible among the shadows. The river slowed and pooled at a junction before him, overarched by large branches from an ancient black willow on the opposite shore, providing shade for the young women in the cool water.
Girlish giggles and splashing continued as the women played. Large baskets of clothing sat abandoned on the shore alongside piles of hastily discarded boots and gowns. The gradient hues of red and purple cloaks fluttered invitingly in the breeze amongst long, gold and red spade shaped leaves on a low hanging branch.
It was something out of an old Nan's tale, a flush of naked, nubile maidens playing in sapphire waters, hidden from prying mortal eyes. He thought on the story of the nymphs and recalled that if a man stole a cloak, the maiden who owned it would be unable to return home and would marry the mortal that claimed it. It amounted to little more than superstition and wistful thinking.
A young man could dream, and a little mischief would go a long way as winter preparations loamed on the horizon. Markos supposed that if a man could steal a cloak and get a wife - what would happen if he stole a bucket of underclothes? Whomever this was, he would know soon enough. He reached out and touched the edge of one of the cloaks. It felt like nothing in his hands, with the texture of fine southern silks. He marveled at it. More expensive than he had expected, and out of season as well. These were not the garments of village girls nor Dame knights.
It was cold. He stared at the women in confusion, their ears were too long and were blade shaped. 'They're elves,' he marveled with the revelation. 'What are they doing so...'
Markos felt a twinge at the back of his neck, and ducked just in time as an arrow sped past him, missing him by inches as it embedded into the rough bark of the willow. Without thinking too hard about it, he shouldered his musket and tracked where the arrow had come from. His heart pounded in his ears. He searched the underbrush. He fired. The report struck the mountains like a profane word in the middle of a quiet sermon, leaving an unnatural silence in its wake.
The round smacked into a large orb of water that suddenly appeared in front of it. It lingered a moment before the maraium shot disrupted the magical field, bursting the cohesion of the water as it fell into the river.
On the opposite shore was a lone, blonde elven maiden with glowing blue eyes sighting Markos down with a white bow covered in red markings in hand. Her clothing haphazardly covered her wet, near nude form. Gleaming menacingly in the sunlight was a sharp arrowhead as the maiden's breath fogged and curled in the sharp, chilly air.
Time crawled by as they stared at one another, caught by shock and adrenaline. He felt more like the deer than the hunter as the elf cautiously moved forward into the water. Her breathing was audible. Her long damp hair, fine as the silk of the garments, lay plastered to her bare back and shoulders. Her bow was elaborate, white pine with red runes carved into it that he couldn't read.
Breathless and wild eyed, the elf stalked closer. Her threat broke the silence between them, "Laima isn't kind to you today, so perhaps Mara would be more merciful."
"Do you mean to kill me?"
"No," she replied. He watched the swell and fall of her breasts before remembering to keep his eyes up. Markos was about to be killed by a mostly-naked girl. Some people would consider that a good death. But, as she drew closer, he could see the panic in her eyes mirrored his own. She looked as afraid as he felt.
He lowered his rifle, slowly, and backed from the tree, not daring to take his eyes off the woman's. The elf's cloak settled around her shoulders without her moving her hands from her bow. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, it was as if she was waiting for something. He could see the arrow. It was broad-tipped, for game hunting.
"I -" he started, but he had to clear his throat. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you and you startled me."
Her velvety voice became teasing and curious, though she kept her bow at ready to shoot him. "You shouldn't see us."
Her eyes were a sky blue, now that they had stopped glowing. He suspected the elf wasn't channeling the Word any longer but she was still an apostate, and he had only dimly remembered the lectures on their capabilities. This was the first time he had ever seen magic, the glow and the orb made it seem painfully obvious.
He didn't hear the sounds of the other women. Where had they gone? He realized that the one before him had stayed behind to keep him from following the others. 'She's all alone. She's probably scared that others are out here with me.'
He quickly thought of a solution, because a compromise meant not dying. "I could pretend I never did." Sweat trickled down his brow. The breeze from the waterfall made it sting like ice.
Bemused, the elf tossed her wet hair to the other shoulder, the bow dipped down slightly - but not quite all the way to impair her ability to shoot him if she so desired. "Just like that? Is it that easy?"
"We could just--"
The elf started to say something, but she tensed and dashed behind a tree only to disappear. He gaped. The tree hadn't been that big, and he found that even with a few seconds delay, he still expected her to dash into vision on the other side of it. While he was still puzzling over her disappearance, he heard the beginnings of a scramble through the brush behind him, and swore. "
He had been separated from the hunting party. The gunshot had thundered and drew the attention of his comrades in search of the stag.
Riley, one of the General's sergeants over the men-at-arms, pushed noisily through the thick brambles that Markos hadn't quite noticed surrounded the river and waterfall. The man looked winded and surprised at Markos standing at the water's edge without his rifle in hand. "What the bloody hell is wrong with ya, Markos? Don't tell me you lost the Lord's stag?"
He was about to reply, but felt a breeze caress his cheek instead, almost as firm as a hand. Markos stepped back on reflex, and he felt his hip bump into something. He grabbed wildly for a second, and something silken slipped though his fingers.
"Next time," the wind whispered in Markos's ear, "perhaps, you will get a name to go with the memory." A feminine perfume of dewy, sensuous flowers tickled his nose and was gone. His face flushed red in indignation as he whirled back to the willow and found that all signs of the women were gone, save the arrow embedded in the tree. 'Damn her!' He took the arrow in hand and examined the fletching. It seemed impossible and perfect. The feathers of a bluebird, it seemed, but bigger by far.
Riley ran his hand through his hair as he removed his metal skullcap. He started at the young man that had gone pale. "You okay, Squire? You look like Mara just called your name."
Markos swore he could hear the elf's laughter. Sergeant Riley's face showed no recognition that anyone was being laughed at. As the others appeared behind the man, drawn by their desire to see if the stag had been finally caught.
"I tracked the stag here, I thought I had it in my sights but it sprang away." Markos glanced back to the wide branches of the tree where the cloaks had fluttered in the breeze. "It's trail should be fresh, we can catch it."
"Well, lead on then," the guard continued as he turned his attention away from the glen, suddenly disinterested in it. "Lest we be out here 'til night fall." Markos found himself the only one looking one final time before he hurried with the others, clutching the arrow in his hand.
He never managed to find the waterfall nor the willow tree again, though curiosity drew him back time and again as the months wore by, until he had almost managed to forget entirely. Only the arrowhead served as the only proof he had seen anything strange at all.