She stood and checked her quiver, finding a dozen arrows inside. Each was tipped with a barbed head, etched with light runes. Satisfied with the contents she slipped the quiver over her shoulder alongside her bow. Then she sheathed her falchion and returned to the road. Though worried about failure, she had work to do. Someone had to bring the light to this place.
Both crossbows were aimed towards her as she neared the gate. She looked up and sae fear on the faces watching her. In an attempt to ease their worry she spread out her hands away from both weapons.
“Identify yourself!” One of the men shouted down.
“I'm just a traveller.” Siril announced. She was loath to give her name away. If the Lord learnt that an elf had come to Misdrobar, he would doubtless have her killed straight away, before she was even able to see him. “I'm passing through to the southern realms and I need rest and supplies.”
“There are no paths going south from here.” The human argued.
“The paths are dangerous this time of year.” Siril told him. “I thought it best not to travel them. May I enter to find supplies?”
The two men turned to each other and Siril's sensitive hearing caught hurried and nervous whispers, discussing her arrival. The one who'd spoken did not want to allow her inside, though she felt it was more for her protection than danger to the town. The other was willing to grant her entrance, seeing that she was a warrior and believing that she could maybe help them. They argued for a short while before the speaker turned back to Siril.
“You can enter.” He said, and Siril saw the gate swinging open. “But don't expect much. You'll doubtless find it was a mistake to come here.”
Siril nodded and stepped forwards through the gates into the town of Misdrobar. The townsfolk were already awake and going about their daily tasks. Each of them glanced up at Siril as she walked silently into their town. She could easily see the fear running across their faces. They were nervous of her, and she could understand how they saw her.
As with the rest of her people she was a tall and slim woman, taller than many humans. Her long silken hair was tied into a tail and folded in half, bound by a leather band to hold it up out of her way. She wore a pale travelling jerkin and leather britches, untouched by the cold of the northern realms as others were. Her arms were kept bare, with leather gloves covering her hands, and a pair of thick dragon hide boots served her to walk upon. Though the hood was kept down she was still imposing to these humans, who had likely never seen an elf before. She noticed that many of the humans were paying close attention to the weapons she carried.
Her longbow was the weapons that she was better trained with. It was a finely made weapon, decorated with silver and gold. The quiver was similarly decorated and held at most twenty arrows. These she kept tipped with heads of silver, for if she ever encountered the beasts of the moon. Her falchion was also edged with silver. It hung in its leather sheath at her hip.
She watched as the humans ceased their work to watch her. The town fell silent and she could sense their fear of her. The last stranger to arrive at their town had been the Lord. They did not trust strangers. However, she noticed that one individual, a girl in adolescence, was watching her with something other than fear. She was watching with hope.
“I come seeking your Lord.” Siril called out. “Where might I find him?” There was no reply. Siril turned and saw a body lying outside one of the buildings. It was the young man she'd seen earlier, being torn open by the Lord's hound. She looked away and faced a tall man standing in the doorway, carrying a large cleaving knife. “Where is he?” She asked the man, but he just turned away and went back into the wooden lodge.
“Why do you want him?” A voice asked. It was a man's voice, but quiet and timid. Siril turned to see a middle aged man standing in the middle of the path. He wore light armour that seemed to have rusted somewhat. He had no weapon, but Siril noticed that the other humans regarded him highly. There was something militant about him and she guessed that he had served, maybe in Kernvil or another of the nearby cities.
“To kill him.” She told him. She read his face, but saw nothing but a slight loss of colour.
