Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

Vann stood on the cliff's edge and gazed out on the wasteland below. Small spots of orange in the sea of blues and greys pinpointed each individual campfire in the encampment below. That is, if you could call it an encampment. Mostly, it was just small clumps of warriors from various armies that had banded together out of practicality after the battle. Even they, the simple, nameless footsoldiers understood that their previous loyalties no longer mattered.
Kyra was dead now, that much was certain. At least, in all that had happened, that had been accomplished. So were others, less certain as to who, but not all had made it through. He wasn't referring to the little footsoldiers, obviously. His thoughts couldn't be wasted on them. Of course many of their kind were gone. Thousands, maybe more. No, he was referring to his kind; He was referring to the Clannish. Even they, the so called invincible, indestructible Clannish, couldn't have come out of something like that unscathed.
Even he was wounded. He would never let it show, of course, but he was. The healing spell was holding, which was good. It couldn't heal all of the wound, but it had healed what was visible. The rest could be attended to later.
He looked down at his black tunic, darker than usual from the various bloodstains now covering it. He shifted his belt, the leather pouches attached to it sliding silently along his waist. He smoothed his hair, a strand of black falling over one of his jade eyes until he put it back in place. It spiked naturally, which kept it out of the way during battle, but he kept it short anyway.
Then he heard it. A little crunch. Barely a rustle of the rocky soil atop the cliff. Most would have missed it, even among his kind. They were close, trying to sneak up on him. Whether it was out of malice or spite, he couldn't be sure yet. It was too late to go for one of his blades. Strapped to his back, tucked into carefully tooled leather scabbards were two beautiful, magically treated obsidian blades of eastern style, custom forged by a loving hand. But they drew up. Reaching for them would tip off whoever it was that was behind him. Instead, he let a wrist dagger slide smoothly between his fingers.