[center] [h1][b][u]Dakari[/u][/b][/h1] [/center] [hr] Deep in the Luminant, a warband of twelve Neiyari had sought to ambush a group of Oraeliari. But the hunters became the hunted. As the small group of six Oraeliari passed, and the Neiyari pulled their blades free from the bundles which concealed their light, the sound of snapping twigs could be heard behind them. So concentrated on their ambush, they had not noticed a second force of Oraeliari appear behind them. The Neiyari spun around this new threat. There were a dozen of them. Their leader, a blonde haired woman with white wings, whistled. The Oraeliari who would have been ambushed turned, levelled their weapons, and began to approach the Neiyari from behind. Then there was rustling in the trees, as six fell from the canopy, with three landing on either side of the Neiyari warband. They were outnumbered two to one, and they were surrounded. “Nobody needs to die today,” the leader implored. “It is not too late. Lay down your arms, and surrender.” As she spoke, the Neiyari warband closed ranks and formed themselves into a circle around a rather large tree. They were led by a woman named Ashara. Tall, even by the standards of her race, with tan skin, brown hair, and crimson wings. She scowled at the Oraeliari, and then spat hatefully. The Oraeliari leader offered a sad sigh. “So be it.” She raised her sword and brought it down, signalling her warriors to attack. They closed in. Then the flashing and clashing of blades began. Had the Oraeliari not made an attempt at parley, and instead attacked immediately, the battle would have been a one-sided slaughter. Instead, they had foolishly allowed their foe to ready themselves, and now paid the price. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the first six of the Neiyari’s assailants were cut down. The Oraeliari briefly faltered at this vicious and stalwart resistance, but then their leader raised her blade high and rushed into the fray. She and Ashara crossed blades. The two Neiyari on either side of the crimson-winged angel moved to support her, but then the blonde-haired angel’s warriors rushed back in to support her. The intensity of the combat increased, and then one Neiyari fell, a spear piercing his gut. The Oraeliari who slew him pulled her weapon free, before driving it into the side of a female Neiyari who stood next to him and had been occupied with a foe of her own. With that one breakthrough, the tide turned, as more Neiyari on that side of the tree began to fall. Meanwhile, Ashara and the Oraeliari commander continued their duel, their blades ablur. But then Ashara slipped up, responding to an attack on her left side that had in fact been a feint, for suddenly the Oraeliari’s blade came up and severed her right wing. Ashara staggered backward, her back striking the tree, and her remaining wing made contact with that of another Neiyari, who had also been driven back. His name was Dakari. There was nothing especially remarkable about Dakari’s appearance. Somewhat tall by the standards of his species, with long jet black hair, black-feathered wings, and alabaster skin. He carried a glaive, which was stained red with blood. He was breathing heavily. The odds were not in their favour. Ashara had been a fool, he realized, to have tried to stage an ambush so deep in Oraeliari territory without considering the possibility that the enemy might find them first. He had protested, but she had silenced him, threatening to remove his tongue if he spoke out of turn, and over time he had eventually persuaded himself that the ambush was worth the risk. But now he realized his instincts had been right. His hands tightened around the glaive’s shaft. Three more Neiyari fell back to the tree, while the rest were cut down. Where there had been twelve, there were now five, and all except Dakari carried some sort of wound. Thirteen Oraeliari still stood, their leader among them. She pointed her blade at Ashara. “It is not too late,” she repeated. “Lay down your weapons, and surrender. This is your last chance.” Ashara heard nothing, and saw nothing, save the sword which was now coated in her own blood, and the one who carried it, expecting Ashara to meekly surrender after crippling her. She clenched her teeth, and with a feral roar she launched herself forward. Once again the blades of the two angelic women met, only this time it was three against one. But blind rage gave Ashara a certain speed and strength. Her foes were barely able to meet her ferocious thrusts, for the crazed look in her eye took them aback, and when combined with her aura of fear made them hesitate. Step by step they were driven back. Meanwhile, the remaining Oraeliari converged on the tree, where the desperate melee resumed. Three approached Dakari, who kept them back with wide sweeps on his glaive - none of their weapons could match his reach. He feinted a thrust, which suddenly turned into a swing, cutting open the throat of one man. Another attempted to use this opportunity to close in, but a swift backswing slashed open her stomach. He then maneuvered his weapon to block the swing of his final opponent, before stepping forward and bring a knee into his foe’s groin. The Oraeliari doubled over in pain. “Hesitation killed you,” Dakari muttered contemptuously, driving his weapon into the fallen foe’s back. Meanwhile, Ashara fought on. One of her foes lay dead at her feet, and the remaining two were hard pressed. Then the Oraeliari leader had an idea. As Ashara moved in for a lunge, she parried the blade. But rather than move the Neiyari’s blade away from herself, she directed it down toward her leg. It pierced her thigh and she let out a cry, but in doing so the weapon had become stuck, and she plunged her own blade into Ashara’s heart. Ashara’s eyes went wide, and she slumped to the ground. Back at the tree, Dakari turned to see four Oraeliari approaching him from either side. The Neiyari were on the ground, and if any were still alive they were hiding it well. Two more approached from where Ashara had just been slain, their leader limping heavily. Six against one. Dakari brushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the Oraeliari slowly closed in. No mercy was offered. They had seen most of their comrades killed, and by the murderous looks in their eyes, he knew they wanted revenge. Even the Oraeliari had their limits. He slowly stepped backward, to prevent them from surrounding him, as he desperately tried to think of a plan. He could not think of one. To surrender was weakness. To retreat was weakness. To pray for help was weakness. And weakness was death. “NEIYARA!” he screamed as he suddenly launched himself at his foe. He batted a spear thrust aside with his glaive, blocked a swing from a longsword, seized the swordsman and flung him into the path of an axe, then drove his glaive into another Oraelia’s ribs. The weapon was stuck and he had no time to retrieve it, so he abandoned it, and dropped to the ground - narrowly avoiding a swing at his head. He rolled onto his back and his hand closed around the hilt of a sword, which he swung just in time to deflect a downward spear thrust that had been meant to finish him off. He followed up the swing with a lunge at the attacking Oraeliari’s groin, earning a howl of agony. Then three weapons came down at him at once, so he let go of the sword and rolled away. But the leader’s blade pierced his wing, pinning him to the ground. He grit his teeth and resisted the urge to cry out. Believing they had him beaten - he was, after all, disarmed and pinned - they did not immediately finish him off. The three grouped together, taking a moment to breathe. That was their mistake. His hand closed around the sword, and one of the three let out a cry of arm just as they realized what he was doing. He yanked the weapon free, even as a spasm of agony burned through his wing, then leapt to his feet. His veins coursed with adrenaline. One Neiyari came at him with a spear, but he seized the weapon just below the tip and pulled him forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s throat. He then brought his sword up to fend off the axe, before shoving the bleeding body into his latest attacker. The axeman caught it, and after taking a moment to overcome his initial shock, he was forced to push it aside. That moment was his death, for as soon as the body was out of the way Dakari’s stolen sword pierced the axeman’s gut. Dakari pulled the sword free, then turned to his last opponent. She had not entered the fray immediately, for she needed time to retrieve a new weapon. She stood with a new sword, clutched in a shaky hand. He wasn’t sure if it was shaking out of fear for him, or out of grief for her fallen comrades. He assumed it was a mixture of both. For several long moments, they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to make the first move. “Just go…” she said at last. “Leave.” “I’m no fool,” Dakari shook his head. “Soon as I leave, you’ll heal as many of them as you can, and come after me.” “I… I won’t. I give you my word.” “Even if I believe you, why should I let you reclaim so many fighters?” She had no answer for that. Then, an idea struck him. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, after a moment’s thought. He surveyed the carnage, and saw that one Neiyari’s chest rose and fell. Another twitched. And he could sworn he heard a groan coming from a third one. “You heal my fallen comrades first, then we’ll you live, and be on our way.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you?” “It’s either that, or we fight. One of us will die. If it’s you, you won’t get to heal anyone. If it’s me…” he shrugged, “well, you might heal a few, but some will have died during the fight.” He gave her a cold smile. “So, what will it be?” There was a pause. And then, after a great deal of hesitation, the Oraeliari nodded. [hr] In the end, only two of the Neiyari could have been saved. A man by the name of Jakri, and a woman by the name of Azara. When they came back to consciousness, they had both been distrusting toward the Oraeliari, whose name turned out to be Allura. “The rest are beyond saving,” Allura reported afterward, her eyes downcast. Azara scowled. She had blonde hair, and might have passed for an Oraeliari herself if not for the black wings on her back. “Why should we believe you?” Allura took a step back. “You… you can see it for yourself. Nobody else is breathing.” “If that’s the case…” Jakri snarled, taking a step closer as he lifted a sword. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.” Allura’s eyes widened, and her hand went for her own sword. “No,” Dakari said, stepping next to Jakri and placing a hand on his sword arm. Jakri was astonished. “No?” “We had a deal. After she healed us, we would leave.” “Nothing stopping us from breaking that deal,” Azara pointed out. “Maybe not,” Dakari conceded. “But then, who else will make deals with us in the future?” Jakri scowled. “The Oraeliari are our enemies. We do not make deals with them.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you gone soft, Dakari?” Dakari’s glaive was raised in a flash, the blade resting against Jakri’s throat. “Soft?” He asked with an amused smile. “No. This is pragmatism. If I never made this deal, the two of you would be dead. So I reckon you should be grateful.” He pulled the glaive away, then looked at Ashara’s corpse. “I’m in command now,” he declared. “And I will not tolerate disobedience. It’s time we head back to camp.” Allura and Jakri exchanged a look. Neither of them wished to challenge Dakari’s authority after the carnage he had inflicted on the Oraeliari. “Very well,” Azara conceded through grit teeth. “Let’s be on our way, then,” Dakari said, unfurling his wings, which had been healed by Allura. And with that, the trio took flight. Allura watched them disappear above the forest canopy and breathed a sigh of relief. She then hastily began healing her comrades who could still be saved. [hr] [hider=Post Summary] The post opens with a group of Neiyari preparing to ambush a group of Oraeliari. However, the Oraeliari anticipated this, and had a second group help surround the would-be ambushers. A bloody skirmish breaks out, with both the Neiyari and the Oraeliari slowly being whittled down. Eventually it comes down to a single Neiyari named Dakari, pitted against six Oraeliari. Somehow he is able to defeat five of them. But rather than fight the last one, he makes a deal with her: heal his wounded comrades, and they will leave the area while allowing her to live. She agrees, not out of self-preservation, but because this is the only way she gets to heal her own comrades too. Anyway, she’s only able to heal two of the Neiyari. But to the surprise of everyone, Dakari holds to the deal, refusing to let his newly-revived companions kill the one who saved them. They’re both a bit upset by this but neither feel like challenging his authority. They leave. [/hider]