Buried in the hills there were many things that humans and other civilized beings chose to avoid. Monsters and creatures of savage natures and evil intents ruled the remote areas. One of these were the orcs. Terrible and savage creatures they were violent and cruel. They were born in blood and died in blood. They were only ruled through force and threat of violence. They only respected might and strength. Such was their kind.

Sworn enemies of the elves which were once of the same ancestors. They lived to see elves slaughtered, but lacking the sophistication and intelligence that the other races possessed, they never succeeded in much more than some surprise raids on undefended farming communities or exploration parties. So it was strange that an elf would seek them out, but in fact one did.

Daelysti was not like most elves. She did not belong to any of the several elf communities that dotted the land. She was a recluse. Short and lean, little about her suggested any strength. Darker than most of the elves seen in the world she had a wildness about her with her hair flowing in various directions as if moved by the wind even when there was none. She wore little, only covering the more intimate parts and carried with her a long spear with an obsidian blade on the tip. The shaft of the spear bore many runes and markings undecipherable by any but the most educated scholars of the time. Her body too was marked by a pattern that resembled lightning. By far the most intimidating feature however was her eyes. Nearly all white they looked like blizzards and just as dangerous. She was no ordinary elf, if there was such a thing.

She appeared from nowhere, just seemed to step from the woods and stood before the entrance to an orc camp before any noticed her. A scrawny orc on guard looked up and yelped before charging the frail elf. Without a word she stood still until it looked as though the orc guard would run her through with his serrated blade. In a movement as swift as a breeze she lifted her spear, plunged it through his throat and removed it again.

So fast was her movement that the orc stepped twice more before realizing that he found it difficult to breath and was light headed. He looked down to see his life pooling at his feet before it all went black.

Many orcs were charging now from various tents and huts recognizing their intruder as an elf, and eager to steal her life away in retaliation for generations of ridicule and disdain. Still Daelysti stood as motionless as one of the trees from which she appeared. Finally she spoke some words that the orcs could not understand. They were words powerful enough to command the air and as she whirled her spear above her head it gathered electricity before spewing it toward the elf’s enemies like bolts of lightning.

Charred, singed and burnt the orcs fell back. Some collapsed from their wounds, some were struck dead by her might and others cowered in fear.

“Bring me your chief!” she shrieked in a high voice that sounded like that of a child. “I wish to speak to him.”

“Orcs don’t talk to elf!” one of the larger orcs growled.

Daelysti closed her eyes and focused her thoughts. She murmured more foreign words and when she opened her eyes she pointed her spear at the brave orc. Lightning flew from the tip of her spear and gripped the orc’s heart, crushing it in his chest. He fell to the ground, smoke rising from his body.

The rest of the group ran off to get their chief. Daelysti smiled weakly, “Good little orcs,” she chuckled.