Caildir wondered why he'd decided to stay in Hol-Vollum when he'd spent his 3rd night there. Today was when he got the answer.

He'd never been particularly religous; he never prayed or really had faith in anything. However, Caildir was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, and no matter the circumstance, there was a reason for everything. He considered that his life philosophy. Then again, being the wanderer that he is, it befit his lifestyle. In his time in the great forest, he'd made quite a few friends and even assisted in the rebuilding of the city at times. Time seemed to fly in his moments there. The feeling of this was only cemented on the day of the Prince's speech. 

[i]How the hell is it already finished?[/i]

Although not easily impressed, Caildir marveled at the elven production. He watched in awe as the prince gave the speech that finalized the city's completion. In the midst of his awe, there was a slight chill in the air. Something was wrong, but he honestly couldn't put his finger on it. All the signs were there: his palms were slightly moist and the small of his back seemed to shift around, if you could relate to the feeling. The day's festivities forced him to push the thought to the back of his head. 

[i]Today, we celebrate.[/i]

And Caildir did just that. He entertained with his usual party tricks and fought some friendly bouts, but he stayed away from the alcohol. He figured if something was to go wrong, he might as well be sober for it. 

[b][The Following Day][/b]

Caildir awoke a fair bit earlier than majority of the elves. The air seemed stale. It was at this moment that he knew something was bound to happen. As if on cue with his thoughts, a lone voice cut through the air.

"We're under attack!"

His eyes widened and he quickly scrambled to see where the commotion was coming from. He heard more shouts about the outpost - the east one to be exact. That was where Caildir guessed he'd be needed. He was no soldier, but he knew he was a fighter. A slight feeling of dread came about him. He knew the forest well enough to reach the edge of the forest. He stood on the branch of a tree, looking a the sight below him. The fighting had already begun. It was horrific; the stench of death and battle wrung through the air. He could see his people be cut down. And for what reason? The ones they were fighting seemed to be none too different from them. What reason could they possibly have to attack?

It was fairly obvious who was doing the attacking. The elves were very much on the defensive. The fighting was quickly spreading near where he was standing. Caildir made his way down the tree, hoping to provide as much help as he could. A small skirmish was taking place where he landed. He counted 3 elves fighting back around 8 of the hostiles. He wasn't sure what to make of them, but he definitely knew what he had to do. The 3 elves were getting driven back, right towards him. They seemed to be holding their own, but they definitely wouldn't last. 

Caildir's hand snuck into his own cloak, gripping the hilt of his beloved sword. He felt the hilt's familiar warmth as he channeled what he'd learned through the catalyst hidden inside it. He felt himself reach out to the 8 minds attacking his people. In their eyes, it seemed that the 3 elves' faces began to contort into malicious sneers. The human's saw their adversaries' eyes sink into hollowed sockets and their faces elongate into sinister and demonic forms. An unbearable scream exploded in their head. These sensations were quickly put down with their death, as the 3 elves had no problem dealing with the disoriented humans. 

Caildir preferred to stay in the background when it wasn't his fight, but he knew that would stay the best course of action. He broke into a sprint towards the fray of the fighting when an armored body slammed into him. They tumbled down and Caildir quickly shifted his weight to throw the new enemy away from him as he stood. It was one of the elf-like things, fully armored, but no helmet. He got his first close look at his enemy. There was no time to speak as the human drew a dagger and charged clumsily towards him. He dropped into an even stance, anticipating his movements. Caildir's long cloak was unclasped at he moved his shoulder into to human and raised both his arms to block the slash that was initially directed at his head. He struck the humans head with his left hand while he moved his right down his arm and grasped the human's armed wrist. With a quick maneuver, Caildir twist the humans arm behind his back, using the dagger to "tie" the knot made with his own arm. He kept pushing till he heard a sickening snap followed by a scream. A swift kick to the head ensured the human's unconsciousness. 

It wasn't long before 2 of the humans friends had come to the aid of the scream, both bearing longswords. He knew he'd have to use Naurhyanda if he hoped to live through this one. His hand touched the hilt as he dashed toward the two. His catalyst heated when he altered the hostiles' perception. To them, there were literally 3 Caildirs, each one moving differently. However, none of the 3 were real. Caildir had stood in place and touched his hilt. A slightly sadistic expression wove through his face as he saw the two clambering to protect themselves from nothing. Caildir quickly recomposed himself and ran toward the one on the left, who barely put up a fight. His sword drove itself through the left human's chest, allowing a scream to escape from his mouth before Caildir took his head. 

With the illusions faded, the 3rd human screamed something at him and swung his sword. A quick parry allowed an opening for Caildir to slash at his arm. The small cut seemed to turn the man hysterical. He dropped his sword and clutched his arm in pain. A small smirk formed on the elf's face as he marveled at Naurhyanda. With the human brought to his knees, Caildir thrust his boot into his face, unwilling to kill again.