[English] An Arrow Through Flames

This is the backstory of Loreldir, an elven ranger who is one of the character I have created to play Warhammer RPG with some friends.

They’re not even good at staying in their lane. For longer than I’ve lived, we’ve let these pesky creatures walk our lands. We didn’t need their help to protect ourselves. And by accepting their protection, we have softened ourselves. At first, they would listen to us and stay where we told them they could wander and eventually settle. But these greed-driven men cannot satisfy themselves with what they’re given. Encampments, then small settlements, then it was almost a village that settled near our hometown, hidden amongst the trees. They had no rights to come here, but did anyway, and as always, we didn’t have the guts to do more than speak up and drive them out. If my father had listened to me, no human would build their home in the surroundings for a century or two.

Not that we would display any form of direct violence towards them. But with the help of the nature around us, we could at least give them quite a scare. Instead, we decided to talk them into not coming here. And while we debated on the terms of this eviction from our ancestor’s grounds, more would come. And the optimistic would say that it was just more trained men ready to flex their various muscles should a threat arise.

It came as no surprise to me that when the need arose, these so-called allies were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t even see clearly what was ransacking our home. I remember waking up in a rush one night, surrounded with light, cries and laughter. From what I could gather from my barely awakened state, a group of green-skinned bastards were onto us. Houses were blazing. Our sentinels had become less and less attentive due to the promised protection of our neighbours. I took my bow and rushed to the elder’s house. I burst through the door and there I saw my mother’s corpse. And further in as well. My father’s head was nailed to the wall above the hearth. My sister was nowhere to be seen.

I fell to my knees, not even managing to think about one thing to do now. There was only blood, blood and fire, and cries, shrieks of horror as people were dying outside, slaughtered as each second went by. I ran, ran as fast as I could to the nearby human colony, knocked on every door, crying for help to save my people. The few hesitant voices that answered me only delivered me a refusal and the death sentence of all I held dear. I crawled into a tree, staring at my home and the home of my friends and the home of my ancestors until it was nothing but ember and ash. Then, the roaming herd left their deathly emblem at the village’s entry and headed south.

I spent the following week in the surroundings, just surviving through my few arrows and the little animals the forest accepted to send my way. I would watch the colony all day long. A handful inhabitants disappeared during the nights soon after the attack. Some said they fled, leaving women and child, in fear of another orc attack. But there was no sign, no mention of a departure beforehand, no trace of anyone leaving.

After the first week, they collectively decided to apply a curfew of sorts. That would complicate things. But their leader still ventured around at night. He still thought he lived above the laws, the laws of my land, my people. The laws of nature itself. Half of the village fled when he was found hanging right above his doorstep, blood around one of his ankles, his eyes scooped out. The remaining humans grouped up, which made it much easier to set their houses on fire rapidly.

After that, I left. I went South, probably seeking some sort of justice, or vengeance. I earn my coin hunting or teaching archery to small lords’ children. My wearied aspect confuses people. On the one hand, they feel as though elves can look dirty and imperfect, which helps me earn their trust, and I can put enough of an act for my disdain towards them to be dismissed as natural coming from an elf. But on the other hand, they seem afraid, intimidated. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, I wander the cities, asking and begging for a trail, a hint on where to continue the hunt for this tribe. They will learn what the hatred of Loreldir the Eosir can do.