A place so bitter
Smog, enemy of man and Earth alike, shrouded the heavens in its despair, suffocating the inhabitants of the valley. The mountaintops lay dormant beneath the pollutant cloud, the slope extending through the copper brume as it met the gathered regiments. “This is it men,” A cry rung out above the zephyr. A single woman pranced before the dismayed crowd atop a silver pony, an Andalusian stallion dressed for war. Armor of layered steel dressed her silhouette, concealed through the snowy tunic. Dingy gauntlets and shin guards furbished their necessary limbs, the cotton and silken embroidery ornamenting the rest of exposed skin.
“Do not give mercy, for they will give none to you!” She exclaimed, revealing a curled blade as the Elven maid directed its jagged tip to Heaven. Equines of the cavalry whinnied and shifted, anxious and startled all at once to the howling of the evening breeze. The cling of the lancers distracted the silence, and the bowmen rested behind the audience, stringing their bows and already binding the arrows into place. Even the maiden had lost her words through the parched throat, growing sore with the besmirched environment.
Golden locks drooled from an elven helmet, only framing the heart-shaped mask of the woman as her stag teetered gently on his unsteady hooves. Rich and resplendent eyes of thick honey scrutinized her regiment carefully, contemplating fulfilling words to reach for the necessary morale. “Tonight, we will be freed! Tonight we will die for our country, for Celebrindal! We are superior, and it is time our enemies realize it!” A cheer arose from the men, upturned blades reaching for the skies.
“Onward men of the West; the time has come!” Snatching up her reigns, she directed herself against the slope, watching through the mist as the first Goblin stumbled along. More soon followed the lone creature, hobbling with his spears, others taking aim with their serrated arrows. “The West will not fall!” She exclaimed and began the onslaught.
Evelyn Helyanwë slit her blade through the skull of a goblin, moving onto the others that positioned themselves about her. A slice here, a dice there, she gallivanted along atop her steed, driving it through the swordsmen, though carefully avoiding the opposing lancers. With a clenched jaw, Evelyn continued on, fighting and protecting those who loitered beside her, invading the Goblin ranks. The elven elite glanced to her comrades, the strangest of all creatures and its rider, plus the man honing the endowment of tepidity. Her beast pranced forward, whinnying and giving its master an advantage over the slouched enemies. A deafening roar stirred the beast and belle as they took their eyes from the opponent; now upon a mountain troll hobbling from the fog. "Take it down!" She hollered, watching just as the horrid monstrosity scraped up a rock; chucking it upon an ally regiment. Men screeched as their feet were lifted from the ground, falling backward and some even crushed without a chance to contemplate the war.
An arrow caught the hind of her steed, forcing it to buck as it limped in a stumble. "Damn!" She cursed, leering to the Goblin archers masked beyond the mist.
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"Don't just stand there; help the wounded back to camp!" Evelyn demanded, directing her attention to the sturdy trees merely a mile away. She watched soldiers gather around the wounded and dead, attempting to aid them. Still men knew not whether to remove the objects that pained them; almost awaiting instructions for something simple.
Evelyn sighed and scraped her arm across her forehead, wiping away the grime and beads of sweat that had gathered.
Send a message to the unborn child; Father's not coming back home.
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Inside, tents were lifted as the wounded were carried in and out, some able to be mended, others unable to fight death. The local blacksmith clanked away at his occupation, correcting blemished blades the soldiers supplied him with. The maids served their meals and fires had begun to spur like wild flowers. Groups of men gathered in the center, talking, sipping their brew and laughing, mocking the Goblins as others sought out the attention of women.
Evelyn strode to the stable, where a series of cavalry ponies pranced and brayed. Thoron rested in the last stall, sharing with recently birthed puppies. Kneeling, she stroked his mane, and then moved to his haunch. She poured water unto the laceration, allowing the blood to seep as a rag was applied in aid for clot. "You were very brave out there, Thoron," She giggled, the beast bobbing its head as it watched her work. The puppies yapped, starving for attention as they hobbled into her lap; their golden brown and ivory pelts mangled and filthy.
She had changed her attire, and her hair was still soaked from a recent dip in the local lake. She now bore the common elven dress; silk of snow as a cobalt cloak kept her billowing sleeves from sight. Comfortable slippers kept the terrain from stabbing at the soles of her feet, making walking a lot easier than with silly boots which left their curse of blisters.
Blond ringlets began their familiar weave, the original curl genes provided. Hazel eyes gleamed against the flickering candlelight of the lamps that hung above each stall.
Standing, Evelyn watched the pups prod and snuggle Thoron who hardly objected to the extra company. With a final stroke, she pecked his crown then removed herself from the stables, returning to the others to end the day with a relaxing vacation.
and still so Sweet.
To Live is To Die., [+18] I should think.
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