The Old Elf fought with the stubborn beast the whole way, but with a few hefty kicks the mule killed off its attackers and finally allowed its master to drag it to safety. His breath wheezed in ragged gasps as he flicked the mad-eyed beast’s nose in annoyance, his hand slowly falling from the sword’s hilt as the battle raged on around him. Pikes and swords had filled the gap he had left in the line, and along it the fortunes of those he fought alongside became clear. For most, luck was theirs. He saw an undead bear wreak havoc further across among the Wild Elves though, and knew that it had not held for all. There was nothing he could do, his eyes dropped low as magic shot back and forth and some individual fighters showed off their skills in remarkable displays of skill and ferocity. If nothing else, the Elf felt confident he had made the right decision throwing his lot in with this group.

Now, one thing that isn’t really overlooked in a battle, but can be somewhat underestimated until the time comes to talk, is how fucking loud they are. Such that Banaari had no clue that a one-eyed elf was speaking to him in stern tones, for she was not shouting at the top of her lungs, and Banaari was concentrating on other matters. His first inkling that she was there was a hand suddenly seizing his arm, and in his current mental state he reacted predictably. He turned, half yelling, and tried to bat the hand away. Expecting to come face to face with one of the shambling dead, the Elf almost threw out a hasty punch and stopped himself at the last moment before he had chance to make a serious political error. He realised that the noblewoman’s aide was addressing him, and hitting her in the face probably wouldn’t have served him well, not at all.

“Blood and ‘ell, dun’t reckon ye should come up be’ind some’un in a fight ye know, if ye pardon me tongue lady.” He turned his head quizzically as she told him the Countess needed his help. What did she need his help for? Well, there were two ways to find out, but talking to this stern elf lady probably wasn’t the better option. He followed her dutifully, dragging his mule all the way, as the battle raged around him.

Then he found out, and his face blanched pure white. The Countess was injured, not mortally so, but any wound could progress to that stage in time. She should have had proper healers, those with the magic and the aptitude for it, but instead she had called for a crude battlefield surgeon like Banaari. And why? Because she believed in fairy tales, or perhaps she was just misinformed by her so called ‘Ranger General’. 

“Sorry ta dissapoint’ ye yer ladyship, I can patch ye wounds fine enough, but the grey is fickle, and the Eye even more so, I can’t help ye with thah.” And he would do just that if she let him, though as a physician his skills were far from the best. He tried to tap into the unearthly calm he had experienced a few scant times in his past, but it was not there. It evaded him, chased beneath the layer of stoicism that itself was a mask for a terrible fear that clawed its way inside the Old Grey.