Eraus was waiting in the tree when it happened. He was looking for the other half of the crown, as part of his quest. His aunts and uncles declared that whoever could find the two halves of the lost crown would get the throne, since his mother had died the week before. The throne was rightfully his, he had been chosen by his mother and would not have his half-wit brothers or cousins take it from him. He alone was the heir to the Rivirian throne and he would claim it, by any means necessary. He had tracked down the crown, and almost had it in his hands, when a human came along and he had to hide. Humans, most often, did not take kindly to high elves, or people who used to be vampires, of which he was both, so it was customary to remain unseen. But this human, with hair like fire, saw the crown that was obviously not his, and picked it up. And left with it. So obviously he was going to kill him. He leapt through the canopy, making as little noise as possible, and stalked him for three agonizing hours. Eraus wanted to see if he had a master who instructed him to take it, or if he was a member of an organization, but instead, at the sound of a bell, the human went back into a guarded building and closed the magically warded door behind them. So he had to wait until the fire-haired human came back out, which he did, apparently, since Eraus may or may not have dozed off just a little, and it was totally fair that he did so, because he hadn’t slept in three whole days, but would his aunt have said that? No, of course not, she would probably yell at him and call him worthless. He was then so rudely awakened by the shrieks of two others. He perked up his long, pale ears to listen to what they were saying. They were calling for someone named Rusty, who he assumed was the fire-haired human. He wanted to get a better look at the humans who were calling for Rusty, so he delicately stepped down the tree limb to get a better look. To his surprise, they were not human. One of them appeared to be a satyr, wearing a skirt that revealed her goat legs, and the other was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. He looked like someone of wood elf decent, but more beautiful than any other he had ever seen. He was really tall, his tail swished easily in the wind, his face still held the innocence he lacked, and his expression was one of intelligence, of calm. His heart sped up, but he quickly dismissed it. He was not allowed to fall for anyone until his mission was complete. Once he was king he could marry whoever, but really hot wood elves would not hinder his journey now or ever. He followed them to Rusty, who he hoped still had the crown piece, and when the time was right, he drew his bow, and fired. It struck the fire hair perfectly through the heart. The satyr shrieked and ran towards him, while the pretty wood elf flared up some healing magic. He laughed under his breath, that arrow was enchanted to prevent stuff like that. As long as he struck his mark, there was nothing anyone could do. He decided it was time to make his grand appearance as the rightful owner of the crown. He jumped from his tree branch and landed softly on the ground. “Hello there, strangers,” Earus said in his admittedly choppy English as he slowly moved closer, his hand clutching his sheathed sword, just in case. “I believe you have something for me.” He flashed a quick fanged smile as he reached for the crown half. Continued in notes & creds
His fingers were almost wrapped around the striil spikes of the crown when a blast of pure magic hit him in the side of his face, knocking him over. He looked for the source, and found the wood elf, bristling with rage. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you take that!” Eraus, still on the ground, cocked his head to the side. “Why?” He shouted back, truly genuine. The crown was his, why couldn’t he have it? “If you’re willing to kill for that crown, then I don’t think you’ll use it for the right purposes.” Purposes? Eraus was really confused now. “Hold on, do you speak Elvish? I promise I won’t hurt you.” The wood elf stepped a little closer. “I do, but I have no interest in speaking with you, murderer.” He spoke slowly, and with a cold fury in his eyes. He looked really pretty. “Oh,” Eraus chuckled warmly as a last ditch attempt to earn his trust and make it out alive, “I’m Eraus, and sorry, wood elf, I wasn’t aware that human was of importance to you. I must apologize, I don’t kill friends of my own kind. Now, may I have my crown pretty please?” “My name is Sol. I am only half elf. And I would advise you to leave unless you want a blast of fire to the jaw.” “Alright, alright, understood, Sol,” Eraus slowly got up off the ground. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to ignore your advice.” He drew his sword of perfectly polished silver and pounced. Sol, however, was fast and grabbed the crown half before Eraus could skewer him. “Let’s just make this easy, Sol! Give me my crown and I promise I won’t hurt your little satyr friend!” A kick in the back sent his nervous system ablaze. He knew he should’ve worn proper armour. “Actually, you little vampiric punk, I’m his sister!” Eraus panicked. He wasn’t fully armed! He expected this to be nothing but a recon mission, but faced a beautiful magically proficient half elf and an upsettingly strong satyr, or half satyr, possibly, who could somehow tell he was once bitten by a vampire, fortunately, he had enough magic in his veins to fight off the curse. “Oh, I actually didn't know that, you just had fangs!” the half-satyr shouted as she let loose another kick, this time to the chest. “And also, yeah, I’m a half-satyr,” another kick, “but I won’t give you the pleasure of knowing my name!” Eraus used the little bit of magical knowledge he possessed to set up a basic barrier so he could flee to the treetops. He didn’t stop until the only scent of fury and fear was his own. His leather padding was bloodsoaked. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been hurt. He would have to survive until he could get to his camp, however, since he’d left his medical gear there. Suddenly, the scent of Sol overwhelmed his senses. He stopped too abruptly and almost fell off his tree branch. Had he been followed? He whipped around to check. There was nothing, nothing at all. He sat down to search his form for any objects or spells that Sol might’ve used to track him. He checked his legs, chest, arms, face, and finally back. On his spine, he found a shred of fabric. He sniffed it. Definitely Sol. He placed it in his satchel so he could track both him, and the crown half. At least that’s what he told himself. As he danced through the canopy he had time to reflect on why Sol didn’t want him to take the crown, especially that part where he said the thing about using it for the right purposes. What purposes were there? He couldn’t smell any magic there, and his aunt assured him that it was merely a crown. He angrily thought of his aunt. She was a wicked old wretch, with a nose that curved down like a hawk’s. She was slender, although that didn’t quite give her downright skeletal form justice. She had the personality of a lindwyrm, cunning and cruel, and ever so dangerous. She possessed magic far beyond the reaches of anyone else Eraus had ever seen, in fact, the scent of magic was so strong it sometimes gave him headaches, for she was practically perfumed in it. He then grew anxious if the crown really was nefarious, and if she had tricked him. He took out his half of the crown and smelled deeply. There wasn’t a hint of magic on it. So she really was telling the truth, then. He stuffed it back in his satchel and headed back to the camp. When he arrived, he felt a little lightheaded. He really had lost a lot of blood. He carefully bandaged his back, then his arms. He didn’t realize that Sol had actually sent a fire blast at him, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, it really started to hurt. The burned area of the skin looked sorta like a star, a perfect painful mark on his stomach. He rubbed all sorts of medicines and herbs on it, but it still really really really hurt. He put on his shirt, leather padding, packed up his camp, and prepared to head back to Riviria to get proper medical care, since the shoddy bandage work would only last for so long. He pulled out his plush worm whistle to call his steed. Continued in part 2
