How High Can You Count? (open)

[Elanzaros]

Desert. The terrain has always been considered in several different ways. There are those who consider it to be a beautiful place, filled with remarkably hardy life that could survive such devastating conditions. These people are usually surprised to find that if your not an explorer the place is dull on top of deadly. Then there are the people who dread such conditions and secretly pray to never have to go near it. These people usually end up either becoming agoraphobic or estate agents with specific tastes. But there will always be the people who consider it a pointless hellhole that should be better viewed if the tide came in.

It’s hard to say which of these things a certain man with a crimson mask for a face considered the desert to be. Certainly when the hood was roughly yet somehow rather gracefully ripped from his head, allowing his eyes to see exactly where their owners had ended up, he had slumped forward ass some sort of vote from his body that the brain had just done something so cataclysmically wrong that it had got them into a desert. “I’ll pay up. I swear.” The voice that issued from the man’s throat was very dry and husky, but then that was to be expected when someone had forced you to eat sand. “I just need more time.” It croaked through its own blood. “I realise that.” Said a smooth and calm voice belonging to someone who could be considered in favour of the third option when it came to deserts. “But then you see. Time happens to cost us even more money and then there’s the dilemma of whether you can pay the next time in which case we’ll just kill you anyway. Sit back down!” The elf planted his boot into the cowering mans mouth, forcing him onto his back.

They weren’t very far into the desert, for after all that would simply mean a very dull and boring run back again with nothing to look at but the conveniently placed bones of various creatures. “Do you happen to know exactly how much a human head is worth in certain parts of the world?” Said Mizaros with a hint of relish in his voice as he drew his dual bladed sword from the sheath on his back. “N-n-no I don’t.” Said the man on the floor who had by now struggled back to his knees. “It is rather a lot if you know where to sell it. You know the types of people. Nutters, Urgals, the sort of people you could describe as, interesting.” He casually performed several lightning quick manoeuvres with the blade, still pacing round the individual. “Your head wouldn’t go for much you know.” He said casually, stopping in front of the man. The dishevelled figure looked up at his captor only to be greeted by a slap across the face. “Don’t look at me. I don’t like people like you looking at me.” He said coldly, resuming his pacing. “I’ll tell you what.” He said in a voice that could be called ‘Einstein-esk’. “I will let you go if you can end up on your feet after ten seconds”

Now in the human psyche it is painfully obvious that something is going to happen to make sure that it is very very hard to stay standing up for longer than five seconds let alone ten. Still, if it is the only shot you have you will still attempt it. The man shakily stood up looking at the elf before him with fear embedded into his eyes. “One,” Mizaros said. Then without warning he kicked the man in the groin. The man grunted and slumped forward, extending a hand to keep himself up. “Two.” A kick to the nose. “Three,” a punch to the gut. “Four,” a knee to the face. “Five,” the blade whipped through the air and kept on going, completely regardless of the limb it had just gone through. “Six,” Mizaros continued ignoring the man screaming and slumping into a crouch. “Seven!” Mizaros’s voice had risen to a shout now. “Eight!” the flat of his blade smacked into the man’s back making him recoil and scream some more. “Nine!” A direct kick to the temple sent the poor man to all fours, his arms and legs shaking with the effort. A hand extended towards Mizaros, pleading desperately as the other arm remained a stump, bleeding profusely. Mizaros looked into the man’s eyes, pausing with obvious trepidation. “Ten!” He shouted at the man before slapping him across the face once more, mockingly. The defeated and hopeless creature slumped forwards, its last hope gone. Mizaros started to walk away then without warning he turned and drove his blade into the mans neck. He twisted roughly, withdrew the blade then sheathed it, continuing on his way back out of the desert. Yet again, proving himself.

[nuada]

Nuada, The morning star, Lord of Kirdan, looked out upon the desert vistas. The sand crunched underfoot, dry and barren - as was this whole cursed land. He had been travelling for but a week and already he yearned for the cool darkness of Du Weldenvarden. Only the thought of the battle ahead, of facing the armies of the black rider himself and destroying them, kept him focused and ready.

Behind him the elves of Kirtan moved gracefully across the pale desert sand, leaving barely a trace of their passing in the dust. For such a small border settlement there were a surprising amount of them, several dozen elves and three good spellcasters, plus Nuada himself, a veteran of Du Fyrn Skulblaka.

Inside he raged, at the injustice that he must wait for a battle, at the harsh desert sun, even at the very earth itself. Such was his focus inside himself that he barely heard his aide, Arelan speaking to him. Interrupted from his meditations he turned, a look of darkest fury in his eyes,

[glow=red,2,300]"What do you say? Speak or I shall have your tongue out!"[/glow]
the young elf was unfazed, his master's constant threats meaning little to him any longer. Speaking quickly he said,

[glow=red,2,300]Koryan reports of terrible noises in the distance, oh morning star. He tells of horrific screams and a strange voice, nearby but unseen."[/glow]

Nuada nodded, thoughtfully and turned to the marching elves, calling out,

[glow=red,2,300]"Men! To arms! A foe presents itself!"[/glow]

The elves cheered and readied their weapons, as the horns sounded in a roaring chreshendo of glory.

[Elanzaros]

Mizaros cocked his head slightly. It wasn’t considered normal for sounds like cheers to be heard in the desert. It was normal to hear sounds such as the death rattles of a poor person who happened to annoy a certain crime lord who had a taste for nailing his victims to bits of rock in the desert. But sheers were definitely out; nothing good could come of them out here.

Mizaros turned around, staring in the general direction of where he had heard the shouts of the sort that you knew what was on the end of them. Weapons armour, in some cases horses but always they had people determined to kill things on the end of them. He saw a cloud appear, surrounding what appeared to be quite a few people. On closer inspection they were elves. People looked out for fairness but he looked for the ears. There was definitely something noticeable about pointed ears, it was unavoidable if you were an elf. No matter how fair you happened to be people would still always drift towards the ears a bit. Mizaros was finding the ear predicament fairly interesting right about now. They were elves, obviously from Du Weldenvarden. But did they know of the realms beyond the Beor’s? If they did then he would be considered either royalty or banished, if they didn’t (and this was much more likely) then he would just be another elf. Only this elf had far too many human traits to be treated as an elf, he had a sense of humour for example, all be it a dark one.

He shrugged his shoulders casually and once more unsheathed his dual bladed weapon, calling out to the elves with his mind saying. “I am of your race but not of your people, if you attack me I shall not hesitate to retaliate and I will not stop until each of you are dead. If you welcome me I am open to negotiation and pleasantries, your choice.

[nuada]

Nuada was at the head of the throng, leading them from the front. He laughed as he crested the last hill, at last coming in sight of this new foe.

However it was not what he had expected, no Urgal or even a Human or Dwarf stood before him but an elf. Calling back to his men,

[glow=red,2,300]"Halt! T'is no foe."[/glow]
A voice came into Nuada's whirling mind, strange and somehow different to others, “I am of your race but not of your people, if you attack me I shall not hesitate to retaliate and I will not stop until each of you are dead. If you welcome me I am open to negotiation and pleasantries, your choice."

Nuada looked down the hill towards the elf standing alone and defiant. Slowly he bagan to smile, then chuckle and finally he laughed, long and loud. His mirth went out in waves, forcing itself upon his men, till they too were laughing at this strange and arrogant creature.

At last he stopped, gathering himself up and getting composed. Speaking loudly and clearly in the ancient tongue he said,

[glow=red,2,300]"Truly before me I see one so outclassed and outnumbered. Perhaps the sun has got the better of you for we are many and you are but one. Still, I say, come and we shall make camp -" [/glow]
Even as he finished speaking he gestured to the now somewhat despondent elves behind him. The three spellweavers came out from amongst the warriors, speaking their enchantments, drawing out from the desert soil moisture and life, creating a ring of comfortable temperate plain on which to make camp.

(ooc: I'm using the glowing text to represent speaking in the ancient language.)

[Elanzaros]

Mizaros’s face remained blank at the laughter echoing towards him coupled with the message. The threw his weapon high into the air, slightly forward and began walking towards the group, the spinning blade soaring through the air before landing perfectly in its sheath on Mizaros’s back. The elf didn’t even break step as he did this, too busy observing this crew of elves. They really did believe in their numbers. Incredible, he had assumed that other elves were somewhat more cautious of who they approached, thinking out every possible angle and calculating every single chance, never throwing one chance away.

He eventually reached the elves, some of them still laughing, prompted by their leader. Sheep, that was what came to Mizaros’s mind, people willing or stupid enough to blindly follow whatever their leader told them to. Any trace of individuality or creativity stripped away from their minds by sheer obedience. He past one of them who was still chuckling at him and abruptly punched him in the nose without looking at him, simply continuing up to the leader, ignoring the shout of pain from the man as his nose broke. The laughter had died now. Yes Mizaros was arrogant, but that wasn’t blind arrogance, he definitely had a reason to be arrogant. He finally reached the elf who appeared to be in charge and stood casually, looking him up and down before saying. “I am Mizaros Xelsare, uncrowned king of the regions beyond the Beor’s.”

He turned to the elf who had chuckled at him still, he was only just getting up, blood trickling steadily down his nose and he scowled slightly. If any of them laughed at him again then he wouldn’t hesitate to kill, the disrespect was nauseating. Elves were supposed to hold respect high up in their esteem. He turned back to the leader and nodded slightly saying, “I offer pleasantries from my kingdom and pride at being related by race to those of Du Weldenvarden.”

[nuada]

Nuada watched the elf walking through his camp, attacking his men, his arrogance almost visible. Nuada liked him. He walked up and after a few seconds said, “I am Mizaros Xelsare, uncrowned king of the regions beyond the Beor’s.” Nuada was momentarily confused by this but discarded it as irrelevant.

Seemingly ignoring Nuada's perplexed expression the elf continued saying, “I offer pleasantries from my kingdom and pride at being related by race to those of Du Weldenvarden.”
at that he stopped and seemed to await a reply. However Nuada was now puzzling out this elf's language, which was recognisably the ancient tongue but at the same time subtly different, with a strange twist or accent to the words.

After some time Nuada realised that they had been standing in silence for an unknown period of time, which to Nuada seemed unbearably funny. He began to laugh again, though this time the others did not join in, instead they looked away, as if pretending it was not happening. One however joined in once more. Nuada suddenly stopped and turned blank, as somewhere over his shoulder the elf began to grab at his neck and gag.

After a few seconds he collapsed to the ground, gasping as Nuada spoke, "Do NOT interrupt me." he said, now mimiking the speech of the newcomer. "So where were we!?" He shouted, eyes wide and whirling.

[Elanzaros]

Mizaros watched the man laugh and a small smile crossed his face as no one else joined in this time. Save for one solitary elf behind him, Mixaros watched as his face slowly turned a different colour as he choked and collapsed. He held up a finger to the leader momentarily and walked around the man to the now choking elf on the floor. He prodded the man with his foot and smiled down at him in a slightly amused way. There were always things about people, which were definable. If they were nice then in this case they would do their utmost to allow the elf to breath. If however, they weren’t then it was a fairly safe bet that they would laugh derisively and show off the fact that they had oxygen where-as the dying man didn’t.

The man extended a hand towards Mizaros, clawing at the hem of his trousers desperately, almost exactly like the man he had just murdered had. He smiled down at the desperately mauve faced elf and slapped him across the face, making him recoil away and cease clawing at Mizaros’s trousers. The elf sidled round to the front of the leader once more and smiled at him briefly before looking around at the other elves who were busy setting up camp.

He heard the mans question and didn’t bother to look at him he merely answered, not understanding the necessity for people to look at one another when talking. “Your in the outskirts of the Hadarac desert, the only desert in Alageisia. Happens to be the biggest as well.” He finally returned his gaze to the man and thought for a moment before asking. “Where are you headed?”

[nuada]

The elf turned away from Nuada as he said, “You're in the outskirts of the Hadarac desert, the only desert in Alageisia. Happens to be the biggest as well.” He turned back, looking right at Nuada, “Where are you headed?”

Nuada seemed to somehow come into focus more, becoming quieter while he said, "We go to war with the Black Rider," he smiled, looking off towards the distance - where he imagined Uru'Baen stood, and within Galbatorix. The anger was gone now, replaced with cold and clinical hatred.

"We march for the south, to join the Varden and their armies. We would not wait for Izlanzadi to act, nor could we. The world is changing, the power is shifting and soon all will come to a head." His dark eyes bored into the Mizaros, truly looking at him for the first time.

"I will not miss this battle, nor a chance to rid this world of the forsworn. I trust you with this information, for you are one of us no matter where you started." He proferred his hand, truly greeting the elf now.

[Elanzaros]

Mizaros looked down at the offered hand, a blank expression on his face as he seemed to almost consider whether returning the handshake would be wise or not. He started to raise his hand in return but paused halfway up, looking back up to the man with an odd look on his face as he dropped the hand again. “No I’m not.” He said simply, he had never considered himself to be, ‘one’ of the other elves. True they were of the same race, but his kingdom was altogether different from Du Weldenvarden by far. These people didn’t look like the sort of elves who would experiment to further their power and knowledge for the good of the elves. That was one of the things his father had insisted on. Many elves, storing their energy within objects. All for the purpose of doing something extra-ordinary. They only attempted such things once every thousand years of energy storing. When Mizaros was born he witnessed the only one he has ever seen. That time they had resurrected the dead, it had taken up so much energy, but it had been accomplished.

“I don’t fight this war.” He added simply, he didn’t believe in fighting other people’s wars. Galbatorix could never get to his kingdom, which he fully intended to get back. “Its not my problem.” He said the simplicity of his speech was remarkable. The sheer indifference to the fact that this mad king technically ruled him while he was there, he didn’t see the point in helping either side. He would only ever do something if it benefited the main party in his opinion, which happened to be himself. “This isn’t my war.”