Caezel stood unsteadily after a minute of sitting, watching without will as a damn elf took his last opportunity away. He would hunt that elf down, but he certainly wasn't in a condition to do so at the moment.
He went to pick up his sword, sheathing it and walking slowly back towards the main source of commotion that was still going on. He stopped when he could hear and to an extent see through the trees, and sat before he could be overcome by dizziness. The farce of a scene that unfolded sickened him even as he felt the ringing headache of maximum magical impact. Damn fairies and disgusting elves got magic while vampires of his generation were left with barely enough to cast book and scroll enhanced spells. He wondered if he was dreaming when the angel attempted to protect each side at once, and when the demon failed to strike at key opportunities. He vaguely recalled the time when a Varghulf had stormed the king's court in his day - obviously the lessons from that had not been earned when one was summoned, and - he was still unsure if he saw that one right - saw the very summoner kill it. "Brother", he heard. His side of the border had once been normal. War was the norm, demons did their jobs. The prince lounged like a lazy elder while an angel made the oddest choices and decisions he had ever seen.
He stood when he had enough balance and strode off to the wailing tune of a wraith, thoroughly disgusted and unwilling to watch the remainder carry out. He would rest, restock and begin preparations for revenge.
Then he would set things right, no matter what means were necessary. But, he mused, a rest wasn't a terrible idea at the moment.
He went to pick up his sword, sheathing it and walking slowly back towards the main source of commotion that was still going on. He stopped when he could hear and to an extent see through the trees, and sat before he could be overcome by dizziness. The farce of a scene that unfolded sickened him even as he felt the ringing headache of maximum magical impact. Damn fairies and disgusting elves got magic while vampires of his generation were left with barely enough to cast book and scroll enhanced spells. He wondered if he was dreaming when the angel attempted to protect each side at once, and when the demon failed to strike at key opportunities. He vaguely recalled the time when a Varghulf had stormed the king's court in his day - obviously the lessons from that had not been earned when one was summoned, and - he was still unsure if he saw that one right - saw the very summoner kill it. "Brother", he heard. His side of the border had once been normal. War was the norm, demons did their jobs. The prince lounged like a lazy elder while an angel made the oddest choices and decisions he had ever seen.
He stood when he had enough balance and strode off to the wailing tune of a wraith, thoroughly disgusted and unwilling to watch the remainder carry out. He would rest, restock and begin preparations for revenge.
Then he would set things right, no matter what means were necessary. But, he mused, a rest wasn't a terrible idea at the moment.