It's been eight days since Tyrael went into this desert. The arid lands were not to his liking; he could withstand surviving a harsh environment, but he lived in a forested mountain, not these dry sand flats. Fortunately he was not so prideful that he didn't take advice from people from the last town about how to traverse these sands. He made sure to pack supplies that would help him on his journey such as breathable but covering cloth that would allow him to sweat but protect his skin from the sun. He also made sure to buy plenty of water for himself as well as supplies that both last and hydrate, such as dried fruits. However not everything goes as according to plan.

About two days into his journey Tyrael was caught in a sandstorm. In a panic he tried to run to find cover, but in the process ended up being caught by a freakish wind that lifted him off of his feet and opened his pack. He had to spend most of that day gathering his supplies, and many were lost. Not to mention he lost track of his path and was uncertain of his eventual destination. Lost in the desert with limited supplies: A nightmare for most. But Tyrael wasn't the type to worry about that sort of thing. He wasn't a normal warriors after all: he was a mighty mage as well. He called for the assistance of his familiar, Zastriel, to scout the area while he did his best to find any useful supplies as he traveled. Though a desert, the place was not without it's share of bounty. Many creatures of the sand could provide nutrients if Tyrael was clever enough to catch them, and though they tasted bitter and needed careful treatment, there were indeed plans that Tyrael could live off of, at least supplementing his meager rations.

That had been Tyrael's life these past few days, and he knew it would not last for long. He had only two days worth of rations that he was already stretching to it's absolute limit. His magics unfortunately could not assist him in turning rocks into bread or sand into water, and at best could only allow him to withstand the day's burning sun and the night's chilling cold. But an orc was a creature that needs food for strength, and without food they tire easily compared to smaller and weaker creatures. Tyrael was no exception to this. Fortunately Zastiel's scouting provided some useful fruit: a sand skiff.

He had heard about these things while in his last town. They were magical boats that traverse the sands at amazing speeds. Hearing this news made Tyrael regret his arrogance: he didn't wish to pay the fee to take a skiff to the next town and assumed he could make the journey on foot. But now he would need that skiff's assistance. Or he would, if there weren't some complications. Namely that this was no passenger skiff: Zastriel spotted armed warriors, three varuks and two swordsmen, and three women in chains. Slavers. Tyrael had neither hatred nor favoritism towards their kind, as he understood the purpose of such men in these times. But because of those neutral feelings, he knew he would have no issues depriving them of their lives and resources.

Still, Tyrael had to be careful. Varuks are a mighty people and those swordsmen were likely trained warriors themselves. Tyrael was both a fighter and a mage but he was alone, and his odds against five others is slim. Not to mention that even if he could fight them, they had the advantage of a sand skimmer with supplies and likely large on-board weapons, while Tyrael at best as the element of surprise. But that's what he would need the most. Zastiel was able to listen in on the men and learn of their destination and direction. They had equipment to manage their path, which Tyrael would desperately need in order to get out of this cursed place. More importantly, he knew the best place to set up an ambush to maximize his chances to catch the men off-guard and destroy them.

And today was that day. A Sand Skiff was just that: a skiff that treads over sand. Zastial learned that there was, however, a large patch of crag the skiff would have to round. And that is where Tyrael would set up his ambush. He had already arrived and could already see the skiff from a mile off. Sending out his invisible imp to feed him information, Tyrael strapped his shield onto his arm as he also took out his large wooden bow. Unlike the bows of Sylves, the orc Ironbows require great strength. They trade in a bow's speed for a strength that rivals that of a balista. So strong that their own arrows were more akin to spears than arrows, and their strings were more like chains than ropes. Drawing a composite arrow from his bulky quiver, Tyrael observed the skiff in the distance. But now through his eyes: through the eyes of his familiar.

He could see the five men on board. The three women were dressed in simple garbs, just enough to protect them from the effects of nature, but were trapped with chains near the back of the skiff. The other men were either keeping watching or dealing with the skiff's riggings. As he drew his arrow, Tyrael whispered a spell that caused his arrow to glow slightly with runes. [abbr=Staff to Snake][color=00a651]"Shakop ushaugit."[/color][/abbr] Tyrael waited for a few seconds longer. He needed the right moment. When the wind and sky themselves were right where he needed them. Seconds became minutes until finally he released the arrow just as the Skiff was starting to turn. The skiff was still a thousand feet away, Tyrael's own form barely even a spec in the eyes of the men on board, but before they would see him they would hear a distant boom from his bow, like a tree that had cracked and begin to fall. That was the only warning they'd receive as the varuk helmsmen, still steering the skiff, would have a massive arrow fly between the spokes of the wheel and fly towards his chest.

The man would die instantly as the arrow tears through his body, impaling him against the deck of the ship. This would cause the whole craft to begin careening dangerously towards the crag, forcing the rest of the men to scramble. They wisely figure that the attack came from the crag itself and made maneuvers to avoid any additional attacks, but would fail to realize that the danger wasn't going to come from any additional arrows, but the only one fired onto the ship. Sudden the various wooden rods that made up the singular arrow shaft began to split, each one turning into an unnatural looking snake that proceeded to bite the varuk warrior who had went to take control of the wheel. Chaos would continue to spread as the snakes would slither and attack the crew, but leave the bound women alone, and more importantly provided an ample distraction for Tyrael as the skiff would crash into the rocky crag.