The Last Elf - i tried...

"Theres too many! Retreat to the castle! Get everyone inside!" Calalas shouted as another crossbow bolt whistled passed his elven ear. He ran back to the ledge of the central gate and watched as hundreds of dark demented elves rushed toward the walls. Without wasting another moment he turned and ran, following the last of the crowds.
CLASH! The iron gate closed and the 2 elven warriors sat down resting from the tedious work. "How many do you think there are?" Calalas asked Esren, his most trusted elven warrior."Two-thousand... maybe three..." he said gloomily. "We won't make it, will we sir..." he asked as he looked out the window to the burning rubble of what was their city. Calalas said nothing, but closed his eyes and balled his fists thinking of his son and wife being killed. He opened his eyes again, staring at Esrens uncertain face. "Perhaps we shall, perhaps not, either way..." He said, looking out the window with Esren. "We will give them a battle that the gods will sing of for years to come" he said trying to encourage Esren. Esren smiled, as a tear rolled down his burned cheek and he looked up at his leader in his shining armor. Calalas walked up the stairs to the top of the keep where nearly a hundred elven archers waited at the walls. Words were not said, for they were not needed. What was coming was certain, what would happen was obvious, they knew it all too well by now. While most archers notched their arrows, some closed their eyes and prayed in the elven tongue. Calalas looked at them, with unblinking eyes. Esren stepped up behind him, prepared to die fighting for his leader. The orcs were now so close, the elves were able to make out the disgusting deformations on their faces. Axes, maces, swords and torches were seen throughout the black sea of the monsters. Each elf holding his bow and arrow notched, picking their targets. Calalas began thinking of his son and wife once again in his mind. He pushed at the stone infront of him, ment to stop missile fire and for protection. He continued pushing it until it was nearly off the wall. The orcs and some of the elves watched him in wonder. VVVVPSH! The rock had slid off and hit the ground no more than 50 feet from the first of the orcs. "FIRE!" Calalas cried as he drew his elven blade and leaped off the wall into the darkness. Roars came from all the orcs as the arrows pierced them and Calalas began cutting them down. Fire, arrows, swords, blood... silence...


A bird flew down to the side of a branch, wet with morning dew. The sun shining apon it. The bird took off once more and landed again on a ruined stone tower. The tower, at the base of hundreds and thousands of bodies, orc and elf alike. Bodies filled the halls and the stairways and all of the towers where the great battle had taken place. No sound except the wind brushing against the trees and the birds chirping as morning made its arrival. And the one bloody elven blade stuck squarely in the back of an orc on a boulder, shining gloriously as the sun hit it...

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