Black Elf

  Orquet fled hurtling down the hill in open, unashamed terror. The sight of fifty, angry black elves running was enough to send any brave soldier into fits of hysteria. The black elves were normally scowling, but on this particular day, they were enraged. All because of Orquet.
  Orquet knew this day would come someday. The black elves were his own brethren, his own kind. Yet, they had no tolerance for weakness. Weaknesses such as mercy and kindness. Both of which Orquet had indulged in in a single act.
  The black elves had raided another close-by village. The humans were getting bolder and bolder, moving in near the salt lakes for its rich minerals to collect and sell. And it cost them dear. The black elves had vanquished another village off the map, taking those they did not kill prisoner. The black elves then retreated back to their mountain caves for some feasting. And fun. Mainly, torture.
  The high-ranking of the black elves considered themselves above such primal pleasures, pursuing power and knowledge instead. Their pink-irised eyes would turn white from lack of outside air and light. But the warriors, even ones so high ranked as Orquet, were allowed to indulge.
  Through the 'fun,' Orquet had sat silently for as long as he could. His brethren were revelling in the screams. Orquet could barely tolerate it. He had almost sat through the entire night without expressing distaste, when the torturer brought out a child. The little girl was barely ten years old. She was terrified. Yes, of course she was. Orquet himself would be if he was in her posittion. But she spat in the face of the torturer as brave as a dwarf.
  Little did she know her death would take twice as long for that act. The black elves had jumped up, eager to see what retaliation the torturer would bring. Their sudden movement was cover for Orquet's movement. He drew his bow fluidly and shot that pretty, little girl in the head. She died painlessly. The hall went deathly silent. All angry eyes turned to him. Orquet put his bow away and shrugged. Then he turned and ran.
  Orquet was almost to the bottom of the hill. He had expected to die by now. A stillness washed over him. It was the stillness before death. Orquet recognized it, different from the battle calm and different from the stillness of peace.
  The gray sky was clouded over and the sunlight that struggled through was thin and watery. That was of help to Orquet, but to his brethren as well, for strong sunlight was painful to their sensitive eyes, though Orquet could stand it more than most since his eyes were a darker pink.
  His tall boots whipping through the grass made no sound in the winter-deadened shrubs. He risked a glance behind him. Archers were running behind the initial pursuers. Orquet reached the flat plains surrounding his home mountain range. Orquet picked up his pace. This ground that was so close to the mountains was rocky. Orquet leaped from boulder to boulder. Not only was it faster, but the archers would be hard-pressed to hit him, much less shoot while jumping boulder to boulder.
  Orquet reached the last boulder and bounded off it as far as his dexterous legs would take him. He hit the ground running. Arrows whizzed by as the archers reached the last boulder and stood on it, shooting at Orquet.
  Hope stirred in Orquet. It was starting to look like he would reach the end of the Quellen tundra and into the pine forests of Berthshwa. That hope gave him energy and he took full advantage of it. On his left, the salt lakes stretched out, begging for dwellers, rewarding them with death. At his right, cold winds sucked the warmth out of his high cheek bones.
  It most of the day before Orquet reached the forest. Great pine trees leaped up to greet him, though they were not welcoming to the black elf. They glared down at him, disapproving of his race. Exhausted at running full speed for hours, Orquet stopped when he entered the silence of the woods. The snow on the trees muffled the tundra wind. Orquet sighed, thankful for the relief from the howling, shrieking wind. Orquet looked down. Sure enough, his feet were leaving footprints in the remaints of the early spring snow. Orquet forgot snow did that. He groaned in dismay, startling crows. They fled, scolding him. Orquet picked up his feet and ran.
  Now what? Orquet considered his options. He had two. One was to stop running and let them catch up. That was suicide and Orquet knew it. The other was to keep running until he could run no longer then let them catch up. That was also suicide.
  Orquet leaped aside before he ran into a tree. He decided put more of his concentrating into running. The snow-covered logs were quite slippery underneath the melting snow.
  Orquet decided to wait and keep running. Something had to happen-
  Orquet skidded to a halt, shocked and startled. There was a dwarf two steps in front of him. The dwarf spun around, also shocked and startled. The dwarf took one look at Orquet's rose coloured eyes and crow black hair and yanked his ax out of his belt and swung at him.