MOTDE: Chose to fight your way to the palace through the market road 1B
From Create Your Own Story
The storming of the capital went off without a hitch, the unsuspecting surface-elves where taken completely by surprise as the creatures of nightmares descended upon them. For your bloodthirsty soldiers it means festivities of blood and murder. They plunder markets, desecrate temples, and enslave families, finally given the opportunity to act on their maddening racial hatred for their surface-dwelling cousins. The cities meager defenses can do little to stop the onslaught, the civilian population finds that their defense force is incapable from stopping them from the horrible abuses and vicious rapes that are inflicted on them. While this is going on you and your huntresses are busy rushing towards the royal palace along the market road. You are high up on the hill, well behind the front lines where your soldiers loot the lower parts of the city, the wave of war crimes steadily running upwards. You have not seen Solaria or any of her dogs, but you are sure that they are heading for the palace as well.
The path leads upwards towards the royal palace. You and your dark huntresses sprint upwards, clashing with the soldiers of Heartwood forest charging downwards.
With your slim blade in hand you cut right through the two first assailants. These surface-elves are foolhardy to think they can match the speed and skill of the huntresses of Char. None of them have the training, experience, and inbreed killer-instinct of a Drow. The peace-loving ways of the Heartwood forest elves makes them weak, even their soldiers are futile.
Cutting and slashing through the waves of enemies your blade tastes flesh more than a dozen times. They carry shields but the sheer twirling, blurry, metal object that is your blade is too quick for them to react too. Limps are severed, gushing wounds are slashed open, all around you die the racial enemy of your people.
You bury your sword into the chest of one fair haired young woman soldier. Piercing her heart all the way to the hilt. You take time to enjoy watching the life drain out of her.
Behind her you see an uncharacteristically large elven male with an even more uncharacteristically large battle axe charging towards you. Without difficulty you retract your blade from the woman's chest and face the challenge. With a loud non-elven battle-roar he swings the battleaxe at your midsection.
His attack hits nothing but air. In the blink of an eye you perform a perfect 90 degrees split to avoid the battleaxe that soars just above your hair. The man looks at you in deadly amazement. Your feet, firm thighs, and toned but pronounced buttocks all have the athleticism to touch the ground at the same time. With a devilish grin you stick your pointy blade into his bowles, killing him instantly.
Another battle-cry is directed at you, elven this time. A man charge you with sword high in the air, You rise to meet his thrust.
Cutting from above your swords meets his with a loud, metal clash. Quickly you bring your sword down low immediately after impact. You take a swing at his midsection. The young elf readies his shield to block the blow, but your sword is too fast, it flows through his midsection, burring into his guts well before the shield is anywhere near your sword. Blood and intestines spill out from his stomach onto the ground, and with a heavy pull you drag your bloodied weapon back out.
Quickly you spin your head from right to left. All around you your huntresses enjoy the same success. With speed and vigor they run through their enemies, leaving trails of blood and corpses in their wake. The dying moans of elven soldiers come from behind, their light-skinned bodies dotting the downwards path.
"Hehe," you laugh manically while panting only slightly. "Such inferior creatures. I was hoping for more of a fight!"
Your manic happiness intensify, and soon you shriek in joy. Within you, deep, carnal instincts pulsate in satisfaction, blasting out electric excitement through your veins. Finally you´re fulfilling what you were breed to do, slaughtering the children of your hated racial enemies.
"High-Huntress, look!" It´s Minvir who shouts. As second in command she´s always close at hand even in the heat of battle.
Down from the path steps an old male elf with a fine and decorated, but still highly practical, armor. The mark of the Heartwood forest elves is proudly splayed across his shield. There is sternness in his eyes, and calmness in his body. Without fear the old man head towards you without speed or urgency, holding his trusted sword low.
"Do you see who it is High-Huntress?" Minvir asks quickly.
"Yes," you slyly reply, "a general!"
You begin marching to meet the man. Surely slaying such a high-ranked racial enemy would be the thrill of a life time.
"Wait!" Minvir says and firmly grasps you shoulder, "Thing of the challenge. His head would make an excellent trophy!"
"Hrmm, yes your absolutely correct huntress Minvir," you happily mutter.
"Yes, so just be sure not to damage his skull!" Your second in command shouts as you sprint away towards the man.
With your sword in hand and a grin on your face you quickly close the distance with the slowly moving man. Just as your at swords length he slashes vertically at you. You skillfully side step the attack, not at all being put off balance from such sudden change in direction. You give him a slash of your own, and he quickly pulls back.
You did not feel the impact, but a faint cut opens on his cheek, drawing the smallest drop of blood.
"Hmhmhmh..." you snicker madly at the unresponsive man. "I see that not even the best of the surface-elves are can match the skill and grace of a Drow High-Huntress!"
You lunge yourself at him once more, swinging your sword at him with various, creative techniques. The steel you carry shines as it dances through the air, but it hits air every time. After your fifth cut the man retaliates, swinging forth with both his shield and sword. You try doing the split again, spreading your athletic legs in a 90 degrees angle then thrusting at his exposed knees. The old man dashes backwards in the nick of time, probably having seen the move before through his long career.
You can´t help but smile at the sun-elf as he crunches down in a tight, defensive posture. With cat-like vigor and quickness you huddle up into a squatting position with your fingers on the ground and heels in the air. You give him the widest smile you can, exposing your bleach-white teeth to your enemy in a confusingly friendly smile. With the man so focused on your smile, you reach for the a knife you keep tucked away in your booth. You quickly grab it and fling it straight at his head.
He easily, and predictably, doges the flying knife. But in doing so leaves himself unbalanced and for a split-second defenseless. You quickly leap towards him and run him through with your slim blade. A movement so fast that if any of your huntresses blinked they would have miss it. The old general staggers backwards, his twitching eyes uncertain if he´s dead or not. After several steps your enemy begins to fall, but he´s already dead when he hits the ground.
Supremely proud of yourself you walk up to the dead man and hold the sword that killed him up high. Then you swing it downwards to crudely and disrespectfully cut his lifeless head off by the neck.
The action has died down, all who oppose the huntresses of Char lie dead or dying. From the distance you can still hear the continuous cries and screams of war. The Drow´s from Velzaria are overwhelming their surface cousins not by numbers, but with skill, ferocity and sheer ruthlessness. You pick the head up off the ground.
"I think your right Minvir," your eyes never leaving the severed head, "it will make a fine trophy."
You look down at your huntresses, all are as bloodthirsty and as ready as you are. You search the crowd, two has died so far, none of importance. Then you serch for the least-experienced, least-skilled, and least-respected among your huntresses. When you find her you throw the head to her.
"Skin it clean. Make it a presentable trophy for me to bring before my mother. The rest of you follow me too the Queen!"
"But Hi...!" The chosen huntres begins.
"Don´t disobey me!" You shout angrily at her. The young Drow is in disbelief, here she is during the height of glory being sent off to prepare a trophy. She is visibly angry, and by all customs and norms of Drow society, she has all right to be.
"But Hi...!" She goes again.
Menacingly you narrow your eyes, informing her that if she did not immediately obey you would consider her enemy too. The youth takes a few steps backwards, then resigns herself to duty. But there will still be plenty of time for her to capture loot and slaves of her own.
"All right." You say with gleaming eyes. "Onwards, to victory!"
You and your huntresses resume sprinting towards the palace. Now almost all guards are dead, the big-titted Queen is within reach.
