Duade made his way steadily from the prison watch tower, heading into the dark forest where few men find their way. A human from Antioch, he had trained for most of his life as a rogue warrior, and though he never was much good with a bow he was a master of his own step, and a fortress of melee weapons knowledge and skill. His skin quiet tanned and scar ridden was riddled by tattoos he had received on his hunting days of old. Over his legs he wore a shortened plate pair of pants that only nearly reached his knees; over his body several straps that held an assortment of daggers, a small pack upon his back, a short and neglected bow, and a quiver of but a dozen arrows; upon his left hip was strapped an iron broad sword of a unique fashion that was sheathed in what could not be told to have been an eloquent garment were it not for the hint of gold threading that only a trained eye could see; from around his neck swung from a loop of horse hair string, a small leather sack that if you counted, held exactly ten gold pieces.

Though his vision was exceptional for a human, it was no match against the piercing darkness of Qarnok that even an elf would perhaps find difficult to navigate in. As he struggled through the forest underbrush completely bereft of his vision he felt blood trickling from his limbs more thickly upon each sharp jolt of pain. After several hours of notably aimless wondering through the darkness, a faint light began to grow in the distance through the trees. Upon noting this not only did his pace increase, but the number and severity of thrashings he received from the surrounding trees and brush were greatly reduced. Soon after the welcome hint of light was received, Duade’s blood ridden body reached a clearing where for a moment or two he knelt to regain his breath, and former composure.

Though he breathed loudly he could not help but hear the snapping of a twig in the distance… for a moment he ceased to breath, and all that concerned his mind was that which his senses could tell him; which was at first quite plainly nothing, but soon after he had silenced himself he could hear in the distance the rush of feet and a hint of a smooth and rhythmic breathing. As the sounds grew closer he turned and began to breathe again, as he quickly made his way to a hiding place near the road. An elegant young elf soon came to the spot where Duade had stopped, she ran at a great pace, her body poised proudly as it seemed to float across the foot worn path with ease, but as soon as she reached the spot where he had knelt she stopped quite abruptly and began to search and listen very closely about herself. She bent down and touched some of the blood Duade had spilt upon the road and brought it quickly to her tongue, at which point she noticed the traces of Duade’s path to his place of hiding.

Knowing he was found out and being very willing to make the acquaintance of so beautiful a creature as that which stood before him, he stood smiling from cheek to cheek,

“Excuse me Ma’am.” He said in his most candid tone, having noted him she seemed… less then thrilled, to say the least, “Didn’t mean to startle you dear, but I’m new in these er’ parts an’ja never can be too careful now, can ya’.” He said hoping his words had been enough to ease her mind, and maybe even get a smile from her.

However his attempt was clearly made in vain for her demeanor only grew darker as he continued to speak to her, and before he knew it she had begun to charge at him, “you will not take me alive!!! I will never return!” she shouted as her head ran into his stomach and her nails dug into his already bloodied torso.

“Wo’ wo’- lass, w’eres ye’r head at?!” Duade gasped between breath wrenching blows to his stomach, “e’ll not be hurtin’ ya lass” he groaned just before her nails dug deeply into his sides and his teeth were clenched tightly in pain.

His gasping pleas only seemed to encourage her attack all the more. There was a rage in her eyes that few ever witness, one so full of hatred, as few may ever have the discomfort of seeing. She dug into his limbs and torso until he had fallen to his knees. Regardless his gentle gaze into her eyes never ceased, and a few tears flowing slowly from his eyes fell upon her now bloodied hands. As if his gaze were not discerning enough in itself she seemed especially put off by the stain of his tears which only naturally brought her eyes to meet his thoroughly saddened face. In rage at his insolence she knocked him down fully and kicking him in a rather decisive series of blows to the kidney. “Nasty human!” she growled as she spat upon his now motionless body, and made her way somewhat shakily to the path from which she had so slightly strayed.

Duade remained… motionless, and very nearly dead, unconscious of all things, but darkness; darkness so thick, it was almost as a pool of blood.

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