<strong>Eluv’yan Federan</strong><br/><strong>Woodlands</strong><br/><strong>Somewhere north of Ostagar</strong><br/><br/>Eluv’yan was weak. The weakest she had ever felt. Yet here she was, clinging to a large tree limb, watching the ground below her. She had been in and out of consciousness for most of the previous night. She wasn’t aware of the time, except that night had fallen. Her stomach growled and she sighed. Two dead Genlocks lay on the ground below her, their feet tangled in trip wire and their skin crispier than a fried nug over a Dwarven campfire. How long she had been lying in a tree was unsure of her, other than a night had past. Her side stung with pain, dirt and pine sap grinding into a coagulated wound. It wasn’t superficial, but nor was it life threatening. Regardless, it stung more so than any blade that was ever dragged across her bare flesh. Darkspawn blades were nasty things, contorted steel made only for one purpose: to inflict as much damage to flesh and bone as possible.<br/><br/>Eluv’yan reached between her leather armor to check the wound. Her hand came back relatively clean, but goopy blood clots came back as well. Sighing once more, she thought about her last night at Ostagar. It was terrifying and yet so fulfilling. She had never felt that alive before, even back in the days when she carried out orders under Ricker’s word. The evil of man in Thedas, be it any race, was never so cut and dry. Evil people still had some form of innocence, and thoughts of them having anything in their life that added purity was disturbing. It had caused her too much pain in the past. The Darkspawn, were a breath of fresh, untainted air. She had nothing come across anything as intrinsically evil as the spawn that poured out from the thaigs of forgotten Dwarven cities. It had never felt good to kill something until the first time she encountered one. A poor Genlock that had fallen to her dull dagger, it was a fulfilling kill. She still questioned her sanity at that feeling of fulfillment, whether it was proper or not to enjoy killing something so much. Usually such thought was dismissed in a few moments by the result the spawn had on the land of Ferelden, and its people.<br/><br/>She couldn’t remember exactly how she was separated from the other Wardens. It all happened so fast, and she had to rely almost entirely on instinct to get through the night. She had been chased, for quite a distance from the battlefield. Her feet were sore, and her muscles ached. Luckily, she had gained enough distance to set up a tangle trap with the last remaining strands of her wire and her last trigger. When they had finally attempted to climb the tree she hid in, she blasted them with the last of her strength, a fire cone aimed with precision and as much power as possible. She had watched them wriggle in pain, the unearthly screams, and the disgusting smell of their burning flesh. They didn’t smell right to begin with, but when they were on fire, they smelled so rotten, so disgusting, that it was worth losing your meal over. Her empty stomach churned at the thought. She could still smell it, even now, hours after they had died.<br/><br/>Lifting her head to look around, Eluv’yan surveyed her surroundings. The dark was comforting, and it was much easier to hide in the shadows of nature in the absence of light. It was clear, for as far as she could see, granted wasn’t very far, but it was good enough. Slowly, she scooted down the tree shaft, her tired muscles aching the entire way down. The wound in her side wasn’t making it any easier, and eventually she lost her grip in the throes of pain. She fell, but onto the corpses of the small Genlock. Their pointed armor jutted into her ribs and she groaned.<strong>”Maker’s breath,”</strong>she rolled over onto the ground and slowly returned to her feet. A gloved hand raised to cover her nose, the smell was even worse closer up. Fighting off her gags, Eluv’yan held her breath as she untangled the last of her wire from the dead Darkspawn. Afterwards she searched for the trigger, but it was hidden somewhere in the twilight shadow of the trees. Placing the wire in its designated pouch, she looked around once more. Holding her breath she listened, nothing but wind in the trees. She had best get moving. Bor told of a place of ruins to meet up at. Eluv’yan wasn’t the best at directions in the wild, save for the mentioning of moss on trees a while back.<br/><br/>Working her way through the sparse trees, she was consistently on guard. Listening for Darkspawn, who always conveniently cried before an attack, she found nothing save for the wind in the tree branches and an owl hooting every now and then. She walked for what felt like forever until she heard a rampant cry ahead in the distance. It was human, not bizarre and out of place like that of a Hurlock or Genlock. She picked up her pace, as fast as she could manage without alerting anything of her presence. As she came closer to the yells, she heard the clashing of metal. Someone was fighting something. When she reached the edge of the clearing it was obvious that it was Bor, he had survived the night. A faint relief washed over her as she witnessed him alive and breathing, but it quickly vanished as she watched him tangle with a Hurlock, and others were behind the foul creature.<br/><br/>A glimmer caught her emerald eyes, as she witnessed another familiar sight. It was Mathius, now stabbing a Hurlock in the back. Her eyes moved back to the other Darkspawn. An opening arrived when one of the Hurlock moved away from Bor and to flank Mathius. Eluv’yan breathed in deeply and gathered her strength. With a soft take off, she sprinted at the back of the Hurlock, pulling her precious dagger from its sheath. As the meters between them closed she garnered more speed, culminating in her leaping onto the back of the Hurlock. Her arms wrapped around the surprised Darkspawn’s neck. It fought to get her off of it, but her dagger plunged into a vulnerable point in its armor, as an anchor.<strong>”Pain is only the beginning for your wretched soul,”</strong>she struggled, her breath forcing out of her chest, and her words into the ears of the Hurlock. Her legs went up around the beast in order to gain further attachment. She was smaller than it by far, but she knew how to maneuver to hold on.  Grunting she waited for her moment to plunge the dagger into the spawn again.<br/>