His muscles twitch, clenching and relaxing under his skin. His ears almost tremble as the sounds of something approaching his hiding spot reach them. His breath is slow, and controlled. Aslon's scout training was harsh at times, but they were well worth it. The wood feels almost warm beneath his fingers as he crouches in the little alcove above the source of the noises. [i]'I can hear is sniffing, but it can't smell me with the spell in place, but I must not let my breath hiss or I risk being heard. These devils can hear almost as well as we elves can, and we've learned that they are especially tuned to signs of life'[/i] His eyes shift about the area, taking note of a few routs of swift escape should he need one.

He'd gotten a few hours sleep in the broken down tower, but his awakening had been less then stellar to feeling rested. His dreams had been fitful, full of undead creatures tearing at his flesh. Given his situation, not very surprising, but he'd almost given himself away to a nearby hunting party upon waking. At the end of his dream he saw his parents, or at least what he recalls of them, twisted and mutated into foul undead creatures. They reached for him, their voices hollow and cracked, unrecognizable as voices that once sang their little one to sleep in the treetops with such soothing tones. Above them the looming black shadow that has haunted his dreams for so many years stood arms wide, drawing his horrible creations into himself. The images and their voices harsh in his ear had jolted him awake with a startled gasp, and if he wasn't such a well trained scout, he may have never noticed the sounds of approaching hunters responding to the noise.

Quieter than a mouse he'd immediately taken to the branches above and for the past several hours he played a game of hide and seek with the below troops. The hunting party comes into view again and using the slight curve of the half destroyed chimney he's hiding inside Aslon sinks his body further out of sight. His high vantage point, the second story of a desiccated building, lets the elf get a good look at his pursuers. [i]'I can identify most of them, but that creature at the front. . . It looks almost alive. I can't understand how any living being would serve the dark lord of these lands willingly. It's . . . . . From the reports, I know others seek to learn from the creature, but'[/i] He mentally shakes himself out of his thoughts, needing all of his wits to stay several steps ahead of the unholy creatures stalking him. His eyes narrow as the entire group passes behind a large nearly intact building, a gathering place of some sort with a pointed roof. [i]'Now's my chance'[/i]

Turing towards the far end of the house he doesn’t hesitate. Dodging debris and leaping over the last remnants of wall he launches himself away from the building at full speed. His body arches slightly and with a single hand he reaches out to grasp the base of a thick branch of the nearest tree. His other limbs soften the blow of his body landing against the trunk. Pausing for only a moment to cast out his senses Aslon begins moving towards where the castle should be. [i]'If I travel all night, I should be able to get a little rest before sunrise and be at the demon's gates by the time the sun clears the horizon'[/i] His movements are masked by a faint wind as he travels top speed through the trees, pausing every so often to check for hunters.

____*____

It had taken all his skill to clear the wall without being seen. Despite the sparsity of guards, the clear grounds around the last five yards outside the first wall offered no cover, and no chance of an easy egress. He'd ended up picking a corner of wall more craggy than the others and climbing at top speed up the broken stones. Had his hands not grown a thick callous over the years of training the sharp edges would have shredded his fingers in a minute. As it was he made it inside the castle town without incident. The air around him is thick, heavy, and the smell of decay almost makes the elf gag. However his eyes remain sharp and his breathing steady as he moves from house to house in a slow progression towards the castle. The high stone turrets and dull walls of the castle loom like a beast waiting to pounce. Aslon surmises that when this had been a human habitation the castle looked more like a protector of the land, and less like some horrid thing from a realm of death waiting to consume the lands below.

[i]'It almost feels like it's looking down at me, licking it's chops'[/i] The thought of a giant tongue sticking out of the main gate to lick the outer wall helps Aslon relax, his target a little less intimidating now. As he reaches the edge of the castle's defensive wall the elf's brows furrow. [i]'There has to be guards around here somewhere. He can't be so foolish as to have no one guarding the castle proper, can he?'[/i] His body remains wired as he walks slowly up to the front gate unchallenged. His head whips around, eyes locking on anything that moves even slightly. He can feel his stomach drop as he passes under the arch. Pressing his body against one side of the arch, he examines the grounds carefully. The amount of dark magic in the air makes it impossible to send out his senses, but even without the dark magic, nothing lives in this land, even deep down. There would be nothing to conduct his senses along. 

On instinct however he flexes his magic and a hard shock goes through his body. His breath catches in his throat and a tear springs to his eye. [i]'Oh spirits, I can feel him. The scout who came before me. He's here, but, oh beloved spirits, he's dead. . .'[/i] The loss of life resonates deeply inside the young elf. As if he was the one laying dead somewhere on the grounds, Aslon feels cold and limp. A wash of pain, hatred, and fear following the hard blow of loss keeps him on his feet. It takes several seconds to get his breathing back under control, but as soon as his heart rate returns to normal his face transforms into a mask of calm control and determination.

He locks on to the source of his comrade's faint magical trace still lingering around his body and begins crossing towards the building. As soon as he passes through a small window not too far above the ground he begins moving through the wide halls like a shadow. He spots someone down at the end of a long stone hall and freezes until it passes once again out of sight. His mind is set, and his skills now are active on instinct only. He manages to go down a few levels, away from the sounds of moving bodies, without being spotted. However as he travels lower and lower the smells emanating from the darkness below fills the young elf with an ever growing sense of dread. [i]'I can smell so much death down there. Not like the living death of the undead roaming the castle and forest, but real and true cessation of life. So much. . . . .'[/i] His mouth goes dry as his stomach turns over and over his dry rations from earlier in the day. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, but it's like rubbing two bits of sandpaper together.

When at last lights come into view he stops cold, eyes darting about to see if he's been spotted, or if something lurks at the bottom of the stairs just out of sight. Hearing movement a ways from his location Aslon continues down the stairs and pauses at the very bottom to look around before charging strait in. What he sees makes the bile rise in his throat. A dozen paces away near the end of a dimly lit hall is a man standing beside a table on wheels. The figure on the table draws all of the elf's attention and the rational part of his mind is swiftly pushed aside as he realizes what has been done to his comrade. A voice barely filters through the haze in his mind, and it takes several seconds for it to register. “Thank you my lord, this is truly a unique opportunity. I know many a necromancer who would give up their left leg to have the chance to experiment on one of these filthy elven folk.” The low rating voice is thick with sick delight and for Aslon it's the last straw. Pulling down his bow he takes aim and lets loose an arrow. The shaft flies true and the necromancer who'd spoken lets out an unearthly howl as it sinks strait through his eye and into his skull. Whipping out another arrow, Aslon draws a bead on the second figure, his heart pounding in his ears.