|A regular night
Author: Hamster God PM
A most regular one indeed, for the repertoire of the playful forest elf Meolle Shecchen'el.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy - Words: 1,488 - Published: 08-18-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3051435
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Meolle's greenish-blonde hair fell loosely down his back. His chest heaved with his heavy breathing, his shirt covered in fresh blood, his swords unsheathed and placed confidently in the grip of his hands. His light-brown eyes followed the enemy's movements, his sharp mind deciphering the next attack's form, speed and strength. He couldn't say the opponent was formidable, for it was just a mere goblin. But the creature and its companions had ambushed the forest elf, forced him into a corner and now he knew more of them were hiding in the trees, pointing bows at him. Some of their comrades lay slain on the ground around him, slashed apart by his enchanted blades. The goblin against him twitched and that gave the elf the warning he needed to jump out of the way, then jumping and kicking the goblin's weapon - an ugly, rusted axe, into the tree which was previously behind him.
The goblin spit something in its foul language, then gurgled blood as one of the elf's katana swords sled through its back and chest. Meolle quickly dodged the bolt of arrows that came flying at him, and he caught with the corner of his eye some more creatures coming out of the bushes, weapons in their hands. He cursed under his breath and rushed at them, parrying and slashing, then jumped on one of the creatures' head, took a grab on a low branch on a tree close-by with his feet and swung himself around it, then he pushed a sword through the throat of a surprised goblin with a crossbow in its hands. He heard chanting and his gaze followed down to its source - a goblin shaman, holding in his hand some silky strands of what the forest elf assumed was water elven hair. He caught himself wondering for a moment how his water elven friend Fliriel would have handled this. He dismissed the question as foolish, for he knew that Fliriel would had most likely drown the goblins in monstrous magical wave of his glittering blue energy before they had the chance to surround him, just like always-violent Theodor would have made every single one of the vile beings burst into his trademark black flames.
He was no wizard, though, so he would have to make-do with his swords and warrior instincts.
Before he was aware of it himself, he threw the sword in his right hand at the chanting shaman before, he hoped, the thing completed the incantation, then he jumped forward, slashing at the other creatures with his left hand. In a few strides, he was before the shaman's corpse and he jerked his weapon free, but in doing so, he could not prevent a goblin from shoving a spear in his thigh. Meolle cried in pain and forcefully turned around, breaking the creature's neck with a roundhouse kick from his healthy leg. He would have to deal with a bit of limping, he thought, and he quickly hurried for an opening in the enemy's ranks. He forced the pain and discomfort away from his mind and ran as fast as a well-trained forest elven prince could.
Just when he thought himself safe, another one of those wretches jumped out in front of him and slashed out with a shortsword. Meolle swung it away with his left sword and thrust in with his right, cutting through the thing's throat. He slashed his sword away from the corpse and looked around, letting his eyes glow red with the comfort of the more suitable for this situation heat-vision. He couldn't see anyone hiding, so he put his back tight against a tree, took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, directing all his attention to his sensitive ears.
A rustle from the left.
With one graceful movement, he took out a dagger from his belt and threw it at the source of the sound. Another goblin dropped dead from a near-by bush.
He discerned there were no more of them, and he let out a shaky sigh. By the leaves, he thought, I just went out to take a stroll in the moonlit forest, expecting a moon nymph at most, and this is what happened.
He scolded himself for being too over-confident and lowering his guard down too much and slumped down on the grass. He looked up at the nearly full moon and he suddenly felt a joint of pain from his thigh. He didn't have any healing potions. Fool, he told himself and closed his eyes again.
'Indeed', a female voice came beside him.
Seriously now, he though, I didn't think myself so incompetent as to let two such occurrences pass by without me noticing. He opened his eyes again and looked at the woman. Suddenly he wasn't angry at himself anymore, for one couldn't sense a moon nymph coming to him if she didn't want it to be so.
'I beg your forgiveness for trespassing, my fair lady.', he said carefully while studying the nymph's smiling face and silver hair, all glowing beneath the moonlight.
'I take no offense, be sure.' she answered cheerfully and put her hand on his lap. 'You're injured, are you not?'
'I will heal you, then.' She put her hands on his thigh and started a quiet chant. Meolle didn't say anything, because he knew a moon nymph wouldn't necessarily hurt you if she found you laying beneath a tree, all bloody and beat up.
A night butterfly landed softly on his left ear. He tried to shoo it away with a hand, but it bit him.
It didn't really hurt that much, but he let out a surprised 'Ouch?' and then cursed himself for disrupting the spell. He remembered how one time he had, by accident, disturbed Fliriel while the wizard was in the middle of a complex summoning ritual, and because of the water elf's natural inability of focusing his attention on a task too much, which grew even stronger because of his type of magic, the ritual had been disrupted and the summoned fiend had nearly gutted them both.
He looked down at the nymph, but to his relief, she hadn't interrupted her chanting and she was just about finished with it. His leg felt much better. She straightened herself and offered him a moonlit smile.
'Thank you very much.' he said. 'Is there a way I can express my grati...'
'Oh there is!' she interrupted him and leaned forward, her face close to his own handsome visage. 'Do you see that butterfly on your ear?'
'I do,' he answered, kind of enjoying the beautiful nymph leaning over him. 'It bit me a moment ago.'
'Oh yes, she's kind of like that. But you see, that cutie's my best friend and I kind of wanted to find her a nice boy for...you know...'
Meolle forced his face to stay polite ant stone-like.
'Kiss.' the nymph said, blushing. Cute, the elf thought, though he didn't really like where this was going. A kiss was still better than what had first come to his mind, though. He stared expectantly at the nymph, faking ignorance of her plea.
'Kiss the butterfly, please. It was very hard talking her into this, and when I saw a handsome injured elf like yourself, well, I just knew we couldn't miss this chance! She's 16 years old, you know, and she still hasn't had her first kiss, and well that's just kind of sad.'
He noticed the nymph also started sounding like a teenager. And wait, what? He felt more the idea than the act itself of the butterfly blushing on his ear.
Well, she had healed him. And he had kissed far weirder stuff than butterflies. Alu-fiends weren't very safe, after all, and also she-demons and drow priestesses. He had also gotten kissed by a drunk half-elf on a disturbing occasion and also nearly raped by a band of female orcs once. He had no ground for complain on this case, he thought sullenly and sighed.
The nymph cocked her head in anticipation.
'Alright.' he answered, his melodic voice carrying through the night and causing a nearby squirrel to shiver. The fluffy creature turned around just in time to see the view of a beautiful forest elf gently cupping a butterfly from his ears into his delicate palms, then slowly carrying them close to his face, and leaning over, a strand of his fair hair sliding past his shoulder, and he kissed the butterfly ever so carefully. The kiss lasted for a few seconds, before the squirrel heard more than saw a giggling nymph dash through the woods, and the butterfly flew away from the elf's hands, flying in a strangely drunk-like manner.
The squirrel felt she was blushing and pushed the romantic thoughts away. She decided it was time to break up with her abusive boyfriend and search for true love again.