"...Amateurs. So quick to jump into the frey of mortal combat..."

A voice, barely audible to the figures deeply involved in melee and the shrinking silluhette of the horse, carriage and prisoners, blew lightly across the winter breeze just like the snow. From behind another tree, like Kan Ironhead before him, another figure appeared from out of the shadows. But with the lack of light, one might falsely mistake the figure for shadows themselves. A dark cape flutting behind him and masking his face, he raised one arm towards one guard attacking Kan. 

"...when their lives will end so soon."

Green. That was the first colour to appear from the figure's hand, a light that shun straight at the guard armed with a heavy club. One might question what they really saw that snowy night, but some might claim that the guard's eyes glowed in a same shade of green as the figure's green light, before slumping to the ground with a final breath. Mere humans rarely witnessed such acts, but Thaliar was no mere man. For Thaliar was an elf, one of few in the land of Lord Octa, one with the elven knowledge of magic. A branch of magic dabbling with...well, issues of life and death. 

"Kan, keep them occupied! I'm going after the carriage!" Thaliar shouted to his more physical attributed companion, before seemingly vanishing once again into the shadows underneath his cape. But really, all he did was turn and run as fast as he could. Because really, hadn't anyone thought that this exact thing might happen? That the carriage would get away, and they'd need a plan B?