Feeling revitalized from his short duel with the dozen-ish mages of medium power, he debated whether or not traveling by foot, mist, or flight. By foot, he would stay undetected longer but make the slowest time, and using two feet was something he always sort of looked down upon. The mist depends far too heavily on the wind- but then again, the wind was picking up with his storm, and he could use that to travel. Herm- he hadn't thought of that before.
Lastly, he could leap his way towards the nearest city in his most powerful, natural form, but hunters of not-so-friendly Legends might see him and take the opportunity. He suspected the shards of his heart, mind, and soul would be quite valuable for jewelry or as a trophy.
As he just decided on mist form, he detected something- a hint of magic, behind him. He turned in time to see a cloaked figure step out from the shadows of several trees, and release an arrow.
Arrows don't bother him- they only 'hurt' in his mortal form, and even then, they are easily shrugged off and discarded. But this arrow was very much different- magic swirled around it. He felt his spellwork reach other to it, draining the arrow so quickly and so peacefully that the arrow didn't even waver in its flight. The impact of the arrow, however, was more than he expected.
The shaft was as long as his arm- so it was likely from a longbow, a bit one. He stumbled to the side as it impact the side of his chest, probably just outside a mortal's heart. Him? His mist form began leaking from it, pretending to be a sort of legendary blood. The more that leaked out- quite slowly, it did- the more it appeared he was weakening. Indeed, three more arrows hit him in quick succession, faster than Zaelios believed possible. And yet, he still did not fall. Instead, his hands reached out and grabbed etheral swords, glowing and swimming with purple and blue energy and light.
With swords in both hands, he rushed to the enemy bowman's position- he could save his other form for later. Six more arrows hit him before he managed to reach him- or her, based on the length of the hair as they turned to run- and he simply threw his sword as the lithe archer turned tail. The sword changed to a knife before it left his hand, and the archer wasn't looking to see what came at her. A thud, a gasp at the icy coldness of the magical weapon, and then she fell.
Zaelios, meanwhile, looked at the arrows sticking out of his chest, aggravated. One had even pierced his helmet, sticking through where his right eye should have been. Oddly, it hurt, though not nearly as much as a human might feel- a human would be dead. He reached up with one of his gauntleted fists, and yanked it out, staring curiously at the steel broadhead, which once held magic. It was covered with blood- but it was clean when it hit him. What had happened to him?
The archer moved weakly as he pulled out the rest of the arrows, laying them in a neat pile next to the archer. He felt himself, feeling the multiple holes where his armor was pierced, and slowly covering itself back up, repairing itself. He tried to consciously repair it, as he had been able to before, and instead, the armor fell away, like he had simply taken it off. It dissipated into his mist, coating the ground around him, as he looked down at a human body.
Sure, the right eye was bloody, and he could see the blood dripping from it, but it didn't hurt much. His chest was covered by a light green tunic, hiding a muscled chest, and he was wearing brown cloth pants. Odd, indeed, since he had never had a human form. Did the mages use a sacrifice? Perhaps they had to use one of their own to give him his life back. Did they bring him back? It looked like it. He raised his rough, weathered hands, and stared at the back of them for a moment, then flipped them over to see the palm. And on both palms, there was a blood-red marking of a wingless drake, arcing from his thumb to his pinkie, with little bolts of red lightning shooting down the inside of his fingers.
And suddenly he felt a bolt of guilt shoot through him. He stared past his hands at the elf, staring up at him with fearful, confused eyes, and the ethereal dagger in her back disappeared. Tears ran silently, as he bent down and started helping her- despite his wounds very slowly closing themselves up, leaving bloody, ragged holes in his tunic.
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