This is a piece of prose relating to Mueda and Iserles. All the characters in this are Night Elves.


Mueda watched in horror from the doorway. Her mother, Iserles, trembled on the floor as the huge bear like man towered over her and started to scream as he reach down towards her. Her fathers bloodly body lay halfway across the room, lifeless.

Mueda clamped her hands over her long ears, turned and ran. Blindly she let her feet take her, though she could still hear her mother’s screams echoing in her head.

She ran like this for some time, not noticing where her feet were taking her until finally she stopped and her hands fell down to her side. She looked around and found that she had made her way up a hill and to her left the ground fell away steeply. From where she stood she could see the lower canopy of the trees surrounding the hill.

Mueda walked silently to the edge, curling her toes, in their soft leather shoes, over it. Looking down she could see that the cliff jutted out into a lake and the trees, whose canopy she was on a level with, surrounded it thickly.

“Thinking about jumping?” The voice was harsh, unkind and the question rhetorical.

Mueda flinched inwardly and held back the sobs though the tears started to run down her face. All this time Mueda could feel her rage building up fast and where as usually there was someone there to keep it in check, there was no one but this man…

“Because you know I would love to help you…”

Mueda turned slowly to face the voice and her fists clenched and unfurled. She could just about make out the man’s shadowy outline stood about two metres away.

“But you can help me first.” Both the man and Mueda lunged at each other at the same time, Mueda screaming her anger out at him.

The man’s eyes widen in surprise but it was too late to stop. His sharp finger nails caught at her face in a downward motion, knocking her to the side. She stumbled backward, holding one hand to her face, the other hand searching in thin air for something to hold on to. Her heels suddenly found the edge of the cliff and she toppled backwards, over the edge.

Mueda made no sound as she fell but she could hear the air whistling past her, catching at her tunic and hair which started to come lose from its tight plait. Then she hit the cold, still water and it felt like a hundred knives had been stuck into her back.

She cried out but then choked on the freezing water. She couldn’t see anything; blood had crept into her eyes and she could feel nothing around except the icy water and the pain from the six deep cuts that ran down her face. For a time Mueda drifted in and out of consciousness, not trying to staunch the blood or swim to the bank.

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