Burning Embers Part II: Conspiracy [Arc 6-10]

Arc 7: Wounds that Never Heal (Prologue)

Note: This is the second, and final backstory arc. This backstory contains major plot points that are relevant to the characters and story, so do not skip it. 

Sixteen years ago...

"Bandits, you say?"

"Yes, milady." The elf bowed before her, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders.

"Strange..."

Indeed, it was quite strange for humans to wander into Dagunland, be they bandits or anyone else. This was treated as hell by them, after all, other than the barbarian tribes they did not even think of as human. She sighed, standing up from the rock where she was seated. It was rare for her to do an inspection so close to the border, but something had drawn her here. What it was though, she could not tell.

Yet, she had come here on a whim, with only four of her subordinates with her, all trusted underlings who would gladly give their lives for her. But that was not relevant right now. What was relevant, was that a group of bandits from Terrasia had dared to set foot onto Dagunlandi soil, the home to many monsters, barbarians, and of course, the remaining dark elves.

"What will we do, milady?" the same dark elf, Greath, asked her.

He was one of her oldest subordinates and advisors; older than her, in fact, and was also the leader of Dagunland's mage corps. The number of dark elves had only dwindled throughout the ages. Elves were prideful and non-prolific people; be it them or their accursed high-elven brethren, and until one of the two were wiped out, the other would make no effort to repopulate.

As such, there were less than six hundred dark elves left on Dagunland, and they knew that the high-elves numbered below a thousand as well. Unlike the human nations, Dagunland did not have the luxury of having an ample supply of adventurers and soldiers who could serve as mages and archmages, as most of their forces were made up of monsters and the illiterate barbarian tribes. Orc and troll shaman-hood could not even be called magic, and with fewer than two hundred dark elves serving in the mage and healing corps, their only choice had been to train barbarian women for the role.

Women, as the men were too stubborn to pursue a craft they believed to be "cowardly". As such, this was one department where they were far behind the human nations, and she had worked hard to catch up. It was made even more difficult by the fact that most dark elves were too proud to pursue light and water based magic that was needed for most defensive spells; affixed as they were on their roots.

Still, through all of that, Graeth had persisted and guided her, as well as being a staunch supporter to her initiative to teach the humans to be mages. In the end, the results had been satisfactory, as two such barbarian women, Elra and Hannà, both of them healers, stood before her as her disciples; trusted subordinates who she had taken with her on her patrol. As was common among the barbarian tribes, they had that golden hair that was so rare among elves, and sharp green eyes.

Graeth bowed, his long, dark-brown hair swaying as he asked, "What shall we do, milady?"

Standing up from her perch and wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she surveyed the people around her with a sharp gaze. Elra and Hannà, women with battle-ready expressions on their otherwise soft features, were experienced and certainly fit for this task, and Graeth was Graeth. There was no point in waiting or hesitating now.

"Gather your cloaks and equipment. Let us teach these foolish outsiders a lesson."

———

The snow fell heavily, blanketing their view as they overlooked the bandits' camp from their high perch atop a hill. Thankfully, the sharper eyesight of the elven race allowed her to view the camp fairly well regardless. Some of the bandits ran around, sharing supplies and apparently arguing, while most of them stayed within the tents they had set up.