Taking Flight: Dawn is Not Dark

Dawning
“A whisper ran along the edge of dawn.”
Zora Neale Hurston

The retreating night left a light dew on everything it had touched. The sky was slowly turning from a velvety blackness to a warm swirl of pastels as beams of lights stretched their way over the horizon, grasping for a hold in the sky. The air remained cool and still except for the occasional low breeze that swept the grasses back and forth in a graceful dance.

The small band of warriors that rode through the night, toward the approaching dawn, kept their eyes on the horizon gratefully, letting the promise of light and warmth force them to try and push their steeds harder. The only thought on their mind was to leave behind the evils they had experienced over the past few days and return to their home in the ancient forests beyond these vast plains over which they now rode.

As the sky continued to brighten, it revealed the true majesty of the eight riders, all slender and elegant men and women, covered in lean muscle and adorned in fine armor of gold and silver, delicately engraved and embedded with gems. Even the stallions on which they rode were covered in similar regalia. In such a striking group, their dark haired leader still stood out from the rest, his armor and that of his ebony horse were of pure, shining silver, giving him a glow as the rays of the sun began to bounce off of him.

Staying a little ahead of the group, he stood slightly in his saddle, watching the ground ahead, reading the slight shifts in the grass and earth, leading them along an almost invisible path. His mind was so focused on his task, he didn’t notice the sudden shift in the air, the sudden stillness as the breeze left them completely.

Then a dark lance was sailing through the air and hit the ground before his horse, the great creature stumbling and falling to the earth, it’s rider rolling from its back to stop in a crouch as more lances and arrows were let loose, toppling and even hitting the other riders. A great roar lifted from the surrounding grasses and dozens of dark creatures lifted from their hiding, brandishing swords and axes as they advanced.

“Braazen! Attack!” the elf shouted to his companions, pulling out his rapier as they gathered themselves, grabbing their weapons and leaving their horses to scatter. They were not fast enough however and they were surrounded in moments by the nightmarish creatures. This did not phase the elves as they readied themselves and attacked before the Braazen had a chance to rally a second attack.

Much blood was spilled and many of the Braazen lost their lives, but this had little affect, their numbers too great for the small band of elves. Slowly the group began to be pushed in closer, pressed back to back, three of their number already lying dead in the dirt, struck down by these fowl creatures. Yet still they fought on, falling to the cruel black iron swords that assaulted them until at last, only their leader remained standing.

In moments the Braazen had the elf down on his knees, his weapons tossed aside. Glaring up at the beasts, the elf couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness as he saw the pointed ears and still elegant lines of some of the creatures, his fallen brethren. His lament was cut short as a bent, shuffling man stepped forward, through the grasses, a long cloak hiding his form as he carelessly walked over the dead, even stepping on one of the elven warriors, the elf starting up in offense, only to be pushed back down by the strong hand of a Braazen.

The twisted figure stopped in front of the elf, leaning forward to reveal sickening yellow eyes hidden amongst the shadows of his hood. Examining the elf, he finally smiled, his sharpened white teeth glinting in the now fully risen sun, probably the only clean part of this man. “Well, well, what have we found today?” he asked, his voice quiet, yet ringing in the air around them, almost sapping all the warmth from the area.

The elf growled lowly and launched himself at the man. “If you know who I am, then you should be cowering in fear Magi, not gloating.” He snarled, his hands encircling his neck, threatening to snap it. right when he’d decided to do just that,a whistle ran through the air, followed by a pressure at the back of his head and the world went black.