Lambs to the Slaughter [Invitational]

[Shei'yein Neydremi]

0100 Hours
Near the Outskirts of a Forest
Ioannes 16 in Era I of the Celestine Mandate
Era XIII Post Fractum

The air was crisp, almost devoid of moisture. The moonlight’s gaze upon the ground wavered for a moment, slipping almost impercievably around something that was there and yet, at the same time, not quite there. A rift appeared in astral space. For a brief moment, the fringes of two planes spat fire at each other, a vicious exchange of arcanic energy. And then, with a whisper, it was quiet once more. A small pile of leaves blew away into the air, rustled by the wind. Where they had been, now stood a form, clad in white leathers and silks.

The elf had travelled dozens of leagues through the astral, stopping only for a matter of hours to regenerate his energies and abilities. He sniffed the air, a sharp elven nose upturned with disdain. Silrosia. Their indulgence in the old ways, in the traditions and culture that had once been strong was what held them back; the inability to sacrifice pleasure. Shei’yein unsheathed his blade, Sinslay Stasis, gripped the gilded hilt with calloused hands. It made no difference where he was. The elven kingdoms had fallen, trod under the foot of man, and all comradeship was but a forgotten memory. He needed bodies, and whether men or elf, many would die for it.

Only with real bodies could he implicate the Silrosians in Vortex’s massacre; only with prominent figures could he incense Silrosia to react to Vortex’s subsequent accusations. The wings on his back spat flames into the air, psychic manifestations of anticipation and vision. They hungered for the destruction that was to follow. Blade in hand, he strode into the forest.