The bar door creaked as it swung wide, wooden frame slamming against tall timber posts.
"Close the door!" shouted one and a few figures from the gloom inside. Snow billowed in, a cold winter storm brewing outside the inn. The newcomer obeyed solemnly, stepping back to gently latch the door against what promised to be a murderous storm. Task completed, the newcomer was greeted by hard edged faces and cut throat grins. Whispers and laughter rose up as the figure walked forward, past tables and booths. The stranger's cloak billowed as the figure moved, thick gloves barley visible under layers of clothing.
A roaring fire fueled heat into the tavern, as dwarven alcohol fueled minds in a different manner. Pale skin and the gleam of daggers reflected by the flickering hearth. It was truly dark, like the clouds outside, but far more threatening.
Yet, the figure ignored these subtle threats and headed straight for a group hidden away near the back of the bar, only candles illuminating their faces. The figure stopped next to their booth, smiling beneath a shadowed cloak. Clean-shaven and deeply creased faces looked back at the stranger, as though long time acquaintances. The stranger was about to sit, still unseen... but that changed quickly.
"Eh, laddie!" shouted one of the bar's more frequent visitors.
The figure turned away from the booth, slowly and deliberately. A burly figure, of good stature and broad chest had waddled out of his seat. Beer foamed over his lips, dribbling down a poorly shaven beard. His words required effort, and even then he was having trouble uttering anything but simple grunts.
"Yah, you," he belched in-between the sentence, "what are you doing in here?"
Whispers had drifted off, all ears fixed on the one-sided exchange taking place.
"Let him be, Waren," shouted the barkeep, but with little insistence.
The drunkard approached the stranger now, stumbling over stools and spilling mugs as he brushed against occupied tables. As he approached, the stranger noticed what could only be a dagger thrust into Waren's belt. The drunk was slowly reaching towards the weapon as he came, his intent clear.
The stranger reached up, throwing back the cloak's hood. A gasp rose up from the bar's occupants, all eyes suddenly fixed on the stranger no more. She was an elf, that much was clear. Her eyes ran in long ovals, slanted ears visible in the pale light. Her fair skin, tinted in a hue of blue, looked that of a divine beauty- but only to one unacquainted with the elves of the sea.
As she surveyed the stunned expressions before her, the drunkard Waren continued his headless approach. "A women, eh?" mockery on his tongue, "well, she'll put up a good fight then!" He bowed respectfully to the crowd, but received no applause.
The barkeep spoke again. "Waren, sit down, have another ale- I've got some of the double X here for you."
But Waren wasn't listening. Driven on by his already foggy mind, he turned to the elf and pulled his dagger. No sooner was he screaming in alarm.
For, faster then the eye could see, the sea elf had slid alongside the drunk and raised her fist. Once exposed, what had at first appeared to be nothing more then a pair of woolen gloves suddenly became quite the opposite: a pair of metal gauntlets, etched in ruins of strength. It was when one of the gauntlets suddenly flashed in front of Warren's face that he realized his error. But it was far to late by then.
Fist caught Warren sideways, with no visible effect for a moment... and then the gauntlet's ruins burst into a blue fire. The elf simply carried Waren with her as her fist swung down, slamming him through the floor and down to the basement below. The jolting sound of breaking bones and snapping wood came after the drunkard had disappeared below. So fast it had occurred, the crowd saw almost none of it- only Warren's sudden disappearance.
The elf, down on one knee from the long blow, stood gracefully. She swung her green pupils from one side of the bar to the other, inwardly smiling at the stunned expressions she received. Warren's groans were audible from below, but not a single occupant moved to go to his aid. Rather, it was only the barkeep who scurried away, down a flight of stairs to the basement. After a moment, faces turned away from the sea elf, interest anything but lost, and the whispers rose with renewed vigor. Releasing the tensed fists she'd held all that while, incase any of the other bar patrons had suddenly decided to run to Warren's defense, the elf relaxed. Her slender fingers burned with pain, the ruins on her gauntlet still glowing with energy. She hadn't intended to hit the drunkard quite so hard, but her blow had had the desired effects nonetheless.
Opening and closing her hand to alleviate the pain, the elf returned to her booth, smiles of admiration on the faces of those seated there. Room was made for the elf, and she took a seat, careful to keep the folds of her cloak on her lap, rather then flushed around her.
"Well, Al'tharine," began one of the seated figures, purposefully speaking in the common dialect rather then an elfish tongue, "it's good to see you again."
The elf spoke next, voice little more then a whisper. "You've sent for me, and I've come."
There were four figures seated, and the elf making a fifth. Four were human, all were warriors, and all were mortal.
"I'd ask how you got those gauntlets, but I'm not sure I want to know," responded the human.
"It's been a long time since the war ended, and much has happened since."
"Agreed, Al'tharine, and people change."
The elf was growing impatient. "Why have you sent for me, Darus?"
"I've need of a warrior I can trust," he paused, looking to those seated beside him, "and there are precious few left."
"You can always trust me, Darus. You earned that at Dragon Keep."
Darus, the man, leaned back into his seat, eyes shifting as if to stare into the distance. Memories; of a war, a terrible war with no victor. Of great powers, strong magics, and vast armies, all leveled beneath death's hand.
But that was years before, when even the elf seated across from him had yet to see battle in all of its evils. They had all been young. He took a breath, and leaned closer to the flickering candle light. The rest followed suit, closing together to hear each other's whispers.
"You remember Trele?" enquired Darus, indicating to the man seated to his right.
"Of course."
The elf shifted her gaze, starring into the distraught eyes of a fallen soldier- a long scar ran down the side of his face, one eye turned milky white by the claws of an unholy beast.
He spoke carefully, his words rehearsed. "The wolfen are stirring again," his voice dropped even lower, below a whisper, "I've seen them myself."
Al'tharine's expression remained flat, "how many?"
"We don't know, but you're lucky to have gotten here when you did..." he trailed off.
The elf's eyes narrowed, gauntlet tapping on the table's edge. "And why is that, Trele?"
Darus cut in, dead serious. "They attacked this village last week, and again two nights ago. They'll attack again tonight."
"How do you know?" Then she gasped. "The storm."
Darus and Trele nodded in unison. "We're assuming as much."
"What can we do?"
"Nothing," Darus spoke quickly, "they'll be all over the town before anyone knows what's going on. All we can do is fight them here, and maybe, if we can hold the inn, survive this night."
The elf slammed her gauntlet down on the table top, anger brewing inside her. "Why, if we are all to die, did you send for me?"
Darus voice changed suddenly, soothing rather then demanding. "Without you there is no hope," he stood, and those three around him rose, "with you we may carry the night."
All standing, Darus stepped from the booth, turning to address the bar's patrons. "If you're still here, then you might as well stay the night," his voice was matched by blank stares, "go upstairs, find lodgings, but don't stay here." He was met with laughter.
"Swords," was all he needed to say. Robe's swung apart, revealing silver armor and scabbards. Blades were drawn, brilliantly cast swords of tested metal, and the bar was quickly empty.
The elf reached to her side and produced a sizeable war hammer, held firmly in her sheathed hands. The humans looked on in awe, having all seen the demonstration of her strength scarcely more then a half hour before. The last man on the bar floor was the barkeep, dragging the unconscious body of Waren the drunk.
The barkeep's words were simple and well spoken. "I don't have the slightest idea who you people are, but you've almost killed one of my best costumers, and scattered all my business," he stopped, dropping Waren's body, "and I'll see you all hang."
Trele turned to the man, sword held at his side, "is there any entrance other then the front door?"
The barkeep shook his head, then leaving Waren's body, he stumbled upstairs with the rest of the inn's occupants.
Windows latched, and the door bolted, all that could be done was wait.
It was one of the customers who first saw the wolfen, as he shouted down to the warriors below. He had seen them moving along the town walls, from house to house. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what they left behind before moving on. Snow fell, and the creatures grew closer.
A fire burned across town, but was quickly smothered by the constant snowfall.
And that was when the elf heard them; heard them outside. Their steps in the snow as they moved along the inn's walls.
"I can hear them," she spoke, "they're coming now."
Sure enough, the wooden walls rattled as claws were drawn across its surface. The rattling moved along the walls and up to the door. Then silence.
"Ready..."
The door rocked on its hinges. Someone screamed from above. The five warriors steeled themselves for what was to come.
Bolts creaked, and the door gave way. It didn't fall straight off, nor did it swing wide. Rather, it creaked open as snow piled in from outside and cold air rushed in. Snow drifts fell through the open door, dark cold creeping in and threatening the warmth of the nearby fireplace.
Al'tharine's heart was beating fast, her breath billowing out as white clouds in the sudden cold. She tightened her grip on the hammer.
Trele and Darus held their swords ready, waiting for the inevitable. Visible air, billowing in through the open doorway; the harsh breath of a monster. An unearthly growl followed, and the divots of two burning eyes filled the doorframe, the body of a daemon standing before the mortals.
And they came, massive frames rushing through the open door, fur covered hides dusted with snow. Darus met the first as it charged, barring down upon him. The human was quick, and his actions showed it. He stepped aside the massive creature, and swung his sword low, cleaving the monster in half. The thing stumbled forward several paces before it realized its own demise and fell apart at the waist.
Trele let out a shout of encouragement, seeing the daemon fall, and raced to meet the next monster. His blade was just as graceful, beheading one of wolfen with a swift high stroke. Blood stained the tavern floor, and sprayed across the warrior’s silver armor as the wolfen’s body fell.
Two more strokes from their swords, and the humans felled another pair of daemons, their bodies splayed on the bar’s floor, dieing slowly. Al’tharine wasted no more time. She whispered a word caught by no ears, and stepped towards the doorway. Trele fell in behind her, clearing a path with his now crimson sword. Wolfen crowded around the warriors, lashing out with razor sharp claws. Darus swore as one of his comrades fell to dual blows from a pair of wolfen, the man’s armor cut clean to shreds, and his screams masked by rending blows from the beast’s claws.
Trele swung again, sending another wolfen to the ground, its intestines gone.
“What are you waiting for?” he shouted to the elf, as he downed another of the monsters.
“Nothing,” she whispered back. The runes on her gauntlet leapt to life, flame surrounding her hands, and creeping up the shaft of her hammer. Trele stepped back, seeing the arcane powers at work, and moved towards Darus. The wolfen closed around the elf, their bloodshot eyes fixed on her form.
Darus turned back for a moment when he heard the hammer hit, blood splaying in a perfect arc around the tavern. It curdled in the air like a fine mist, shattered bones and the resounding crack of the hammer’s blow arriving only after the wolfen had exploded.
The elf smiled wickedly, leaping up from where her hammer had landed, cleaved down the middle of the wolfen beast. Her cape fell to the floor, weighted heavy with the vile creature’s blood, revealing her intricate full body armor. Her boots left the bar floor, and she rose into the final point of her jump, hammer swung around from another blow. It fell slowly, markedly slow, to the wolfen below her. At least, for that moment it did. Then the gauntlet’s flame grew stronger still, and the elf’s decent raced beyond the speed of the eye. Her hammer fell, and another of the beasts burst apart, shattering like a broken wine bottle.
Blood fell like rain, and the crack of the hammer had yet to be heard before the elf was once more in the air, searching for another victim.
Darus backed into Trele, the two fighting as one, strength draining slowly. Another of the warriors fell, but none saw it happen. The wolfen tore the man apart, gore and all. Just beyond what he could see, bodies piling around him, Darus could hear the constant thunder of Al’tharine’s hammer, and could feel the ever present mist of blood it generated with each new victim.
And the elf seemed intent in never slowing, not even for a moment. The flame had leapt from her gauntlet’s to the hammer, and from their it was crawling up her armor. At every instant she moved faster, hammer swinging from side to side with increasing force. Her graceful body lost distinction, so covered in the monster’s blood it was. To Darus she was only a blur of blue fire.
Trele swept his sword in an arc before him, two more of the wolfen falling over his blade. Darus shouted encouragement, but it was what happened next not even the skill of Trele could match: leaping over the bodies of his fallen kind, one of the wolfen grabbed Trele’s sword by the blade, and spun it into its own claws. The human stood mystified by the creature’s action. With inhuman strength, the monster cleaved Trele’s head from his shoulders.
Darus turned to his friend and screamed, slicing his blade high to slaughter the wolfen responsible for Trele’s death. Sword falling from the monster’s claws, Darus deftly grabbed it by the handle. Swords in hand, he spun back to the battle.
Al’tharine found herself breaking. Her entire body burned with the blue fire, and she knew that she could not fight much longer. Her eyes were a flame now, hair standing on end as her muscles and bones strained to control the power being released from the gauntlets she wore. She struck another blow, so powerful the hammer itself shattered, throwing shreds of metal in all directions. The wolfen had learned to fear her now, and were trying to open some distance between the flaming elf and themselves, but it was impossible. She was too fast, and her weapons too powerful, even for herself.
The elf lashed out a wicked punch, bursting the head of one of the wolfen, and sending its body flying back; another punch and two more died, blown apart as the gauntlets struck.
Darus swung his swords back and forth like wheat scythes, ruining more of the wolfen. But there were too many, and he was growing weaker by the moment. One of the monsters climbed over several bodies to lunge at the human, but was sliced apart instead. From behind another of the monsters attempted a similar maneuver and found itself skewered on a pair swords.
And he could fight no longer. There wasn’t the strength left in his body to lift the swords again. So he threw one at the nearest wolfen, relishing the blade’s impact. He looked to Al’tharine, the elf, and was almost blinded by the light her body seemed to emanate. His last sight was of her falling upon another wolfen and destroying it.
Then, as more of the creatures came to overwhelm Darus, he swung his sword up and back, against his neck and through his spine. He crumbled body fell to the floor, and the wolfen destroyed what was left…
The elf opened her eyes. All around her, gore from the night before fell over the walls. Heads, bodies, arms and legs, everywhere. They blocked the doorway there were so many, and ran out into the snow-filled streets. A pale sun shown through morning clouds, casting staggered light into the bar. Ruins, everything in ruin. The elf stood, stepping through the carnage. Every bone in her body ached, her flesh burned, still, and cold smoke rose from her ruined gauntlets, which lay across from her on the floor.
“One of us made it,” she spoke over Darus’s body, reaching for his sword. It had bent in the middle, she remembered, when one of the wolfen had attempted to wield it against her. Trele’s body she never found, to many wolfen corpses littered to floor. His sword was gone, shattered from a blow she had dealt to another of the creatures foolish enough to face her.
Carrying the bloodied sword lightly, she stepped outside, into the light. Her green eyes squinted, as she looked the distance of the town. None had lived, that was clear, not even those in the inn. The wolfen had been as quick as the devils they were.
Suddenly, not knowing why she carried the sword, the elf flung it away from her, and it landed silently in the painted snow. She turned to face the sun, its warmth covering her crimson armor. The sunrise was inviting, so Al’tharine went to greet it, boots crunching in the snow as she walked.