A flight

"GRIMSTONE!?" The hulking Sergeant bellowed.

"Where in Baator is that half-breed!?" Marching through the heavy brush continuing his rant, Sergeant Harwood scoured the ranks of his raggedy band of cut-throats and thieves as they lay in wait for their mark.

After approaching through the heavy forest behind them to the north-west, Harwood had given the order to go to ground and prepare the ambush. Now they sat just north of the Trade Road, with almost two hours having gone by and no sign of the incoming caravan, Harwood's restlessness was rapidly morphing in to a rage that no man was built to endure.

"Drake Grimstone you filthy wretch! Where the..."

"Sergeant?" Drake rose hesitantly from behind a cluster of shrubs, raven hair whipping about his pale face.

"Where are they?" Having found his quarry, Harwood didn't let up. "How about you use some of those sneaky elf powers?" Hardwood's thick oily beard glistened with spittle as he spat the words at Drake. "We're in a forest, aren't we? You're an elf, aren't you?" Harwood seemed about to burst, red faced and wide eyed, a stark contrast to the bewilderment and ghostly face of Grimstone.

"Where. The hell. Are they!?" Harwood raged.

Drake had no idea, Harwood knew he had no idea, this was just another of the ways Harwood enjoyed making Drake's life unbearable. The man seemed to hate him most of the time.

"I don't... uh... I'm not... really accustomed to the forest, Sergeant," Drake offered meekly.

Sudden sharp pain in the side of his head was accompanied by Drake's legs quite uselessly collapsing under him. Reeling from the blow, it was all he could do to not pass out there amongst the twigs and leaves he knew so little about.

"Whaddya meeean not accustomed? Not accustomed... You're half a damn elf!" The menacing veteran stood over Drake, drawing his massive falchion from its sheath upon his back.

Drake blinked, His olive-green eyes now encircled with numerous spidery red veins.

"Stars? No... wait..." Studs covering the Sergeants hardened leather armour reflected the afternoon sun in Drake's vision.
"Waaaiiit..." Drake moaned.
Pressure on his shin began to bring him back to full consciousness, Drake shook his head and grasped for the dagger strapped to his leg.
"Sergeant!" The voice of a saviour rang out followed by rapid footsteps crashing through the brush, "Sergeant Harwood, they're here!".
"Luckiest piece of scum there is Grimstone." Harwood spat.

Drake glanced up as the scout continued, "They're just passing our three mile marker, looks like the usual..."
Blue cloudless sky filled Drake's vision and as darkness rapidly closed in around him he couldn't help but wonder how Harwood kept the underside of his boots so damned clean...

* * *

A joyous cheer rang in Drake's ears, it ripped through his skull like a knife.

What...

Confused, with his head pounding Drake slowly opened his eyes, blurry dense brush accented by tall scattered trees surrounded him.
"I hate that man..." He muttered as he rose tentatively, the thumping in his head persisted as Drake blinked in an attempt to shed his hazy vision.

The sight awaiting him was far from expected, nor welcoming. The source of the cheer that so harshly roused him from his involuntary slumber was not from anyone known to him, the area was filled with soldiers in bright shining armour. Realising the potential peril he found himself in, Drake quickly ducked back down behind the shrubs.

It was this quicker motion that was his downfall.

"Oi! There!" A cry rang out and the rattle of armour was suddenly all around.
"Where's he been hiding!?" Another voice joined as Drake could hear blades being drawn as battle cries filled the air.
"It's a damned Elf! Get him!" roared one soldier.
"He'll lose us in the woods!" came another.

This was really beginning to irk Drake and he succumbed to his bubbling rage, rising up once more he roared his reply.
"I'm...not...that...kind.. OF ELF!" Dark inky energy surged along Drake's arms and down over his hands, enveloping them as they swirled and crackled. Drake launched a vicious assault of eldritch energy toward the nearest foe.

The soldier groaned and seemed to stiffen as the shadowy bolt took him in the chest, crackling along the polished steel breastplate.
"Aaaarchers!" One voice cried, "Take him down!" another.

Drake ran.

Thwack! An arrow buried itself low into a nearby tree trunk. Drake's mind was empty, he was now operating purely on instinct.
He darted, left, then right behind the trees, always seeking to place obstacles in his pursuers line of sight. Faster and faster he ran, lengthy hours of training powered his flight. After what seemed an eternity the cries began to soften, he could no longer hear the rattle of armour as his would be captors chased him through the increasingly dense forest.

Drake slowly regained control of conscious thought, he slowed his mad run to a jog and listened for signs of the soldiers.

Keep moving. Use the cover.

Drake willed himself onward, still darting every so often to a more concealing position.

It was the sound of a creek trickling ahead that eventually stopped him in his tracks. A new realization of thirst overcame him and Drake felt for his water skin.
"I swear I put that thing in here..." Drake sighed heavily, "That thieving mongrel Alvin..." He had been the victim of pilfering, again. Alvin was good, really good at what he did, Drake only took exception to the fact that what he did frequently involved Drake's possessions.
Drake was certain he stole from him simply due to a lack of desire to do his own chores, or spend his own coin on the odds and ends of every-day life.

"Hmmm..." Drake looked over the only other liquid he had stashed in his pack, the Potion of Healing he kept on his person at all times.
It IS liquid... He tried to convince himself, Ah... better not.

Drake Grimstone edged cautiously toward the sound of the creek ahead, above him the canopy thickened and the light began to dim.