He was tall for an elf, with fine slender limbs, unhindered
by armor or clothes, giving witness to his skill developed
by the centuries. He wore a shirt of leather the color of
dried twigs and woven in ways which enamored his closeness
to the forest and the nature, with a fitting pair of
leggings beautifully woven to look like carved wood and
brush. His hair was a light gold-yellow hue and his eyes
blazing grey proud hatred, gazing forward, at a single
target. Standing still as a bark, he kept his aim. The
large, wonderfully carved rune etched bow, held straight,
waiting for its target, the silk-thin arrow held in his
delicate yet strong fingers, unscathed by his centuries of
allying with the deadly weapon. The runes glistened as if
under a noon sun, reading "Vengeance" in the noble language.
In the arms of an elf, it readied for the shot, taking in
its mark, its speed, stature and movements as she
approached.

She was not tall. The second elf, rushing at the tall male
was the regular height for her species, but she was taller
than him. Her short, silky hair waves behind her ears full
of life which she craved to end. Her eyes were the color of
amber, narrowed into angry slits, almost hungry. Her own
slender lends were beautifully muscled and ready for the
task ahead of her. She wore nothing but a very faded light
blue piece of cloth which covered her in some parts; leaving
the ones she wanted others to see bare, almost glistening
obsidian luring them in, into their doom. Engulfed in a
cloak alone and travel boots which made no sound as they
touched the earth, she ran towards the elf with a blade held
in two hands. That too was slender, thin and sharp, with an
outline of unholy runes etched along it. As she glided among
the curbs, cracks and stones her deadly weapon whistled in
the wind, music of dread.

The archer waited no longer, he let loose an arrow. With
perfect balance and speed, he let out two more before the
first one reached its target. The feline elf saw his first
draw, but did not allow him to draw first blood. The first
arrow she dodged by simply realigning her torso in an almost
unnatural motion, the two others she dodged by jumping to
one side, then the next, with perfect agility honed in her
own centuries of rougher training and survival. The tall elf
did not deter, and let fly arrow after arrow, the dark elf
closing the gap between them in the meanwhile, dodging an
arrow and marvelously parrying the next with her blade,
which looked like a mere extension of her arm.

The gap was closed. In reality, it only took a shard of a
second, but the coming carnage was uncannily perfect to
extension of art; the archer was ready. He dropped his bow
the moment she thrust, and raising his own rune decorated
blade exotically crafted from a faded green metal, readied
on the ground beforehand, he thrust forward as well, to
counter the killing strike. The deadly mistress brought
forth her blade at the same time as well as her second hand.
And at the end of that shard of a second, all was dark.

Metals clanged, however, one who might have been listening
would have thought it music, and not a sword fight. So
attuned were their strikes and parries and quick, they
sounded as if done rapidly without swing delay or recoils.
The dark elf rolled backwards from the globe of darkness
created by herself moments ago, the archer quickly after her
in perfect unison, his blade quickly thrusting down at her
spot. But she was long gone. She rolled to the side into a
crouch, now with a small carved dagger in her other hand
ready for the next swing. He came at her again, both hands
holding his quick sword and she parried. The duel seemed
like a dance. A chaotic dance, for their movements were both
magnificently perfect and random at the same time. They both
seemed to anticipate their counterpart's movements, dodging
and countering in ways mortal men never knew possible. It
seemed like a clash of deities, dining at the table of
warfare.

It went on for what seemed to be like hours. The archer drew
first blood. But it was a mere scratch on her dagger wrist,
used by her against him as her blade came at his chest. He
sidestepped but the deadly tip caught him on the lower
chest. A blow like that would kill, or main if the receiver
was in luck, but the magically crafted shirt blocked it
partially, giving the tall elf a flesh wound. She seemed to
have perfect balance in both hands, not preferring one to
the other in her double strikes. She used the dagger to
parry a blow and the blade to give the swift counter. He
used his perfect balance and peace to evade and his
masterfully made armor to deflect. After one such deflection
and elven sword parried wide, the fierce mistress attempted
a quick, clipped slash with both blades at once at his
heart. The bladesinger, with eyes closed and perfect
calmness on his face span around faster than a man's eye can
see. His blade led his whole body, his free arm behind him,
and he charged for her side. Her head spun as her blade hit
thin air, and her deadly focused gaze followed his
movements. With a wild spin of her own, holding the edge of
her cloak by its edge, the tall elf's blade met nothing but
magical cloth which completely deflected his attack. He
seemed surprised for just a moment but ducked and rolled to
the side he came from as her wild spin ended with the tip of
her blade aiming at his head. And the dance continued.

A hatred filled yell ended the wonderful spin. The cunning
mistress now used her bigger bulk of a dark elf female and
charged at the archer, who was just returning to his balance
from the roll. Her rapier led at his face, he managed to
parry but the dagger came faster toward his throat. It
stopped an inch from his bare skin as she found herself
unable to move forth. She gave an angry look to her back;
the leg leading the lunge was caught fast by a bramble which
seemed to have burst from the rocky ground. The tall warrior
used it to his advantage, parried the dagger wildly to the
side and punched at her face, throwing her tumbling to the
side. He was stronger than he looked. Without hesitating and
with yet again amazing speed he slipped a small dirk from
his belt and threw it at the same way she was falling. But
as if defying gravity she stopped in midair and the dagger
flew wild and clanked against a large boulder. Using her
momentum with innate levitation effect she landed far from
the elf. With a mere twitch of her arm, the dagger fell to
the ground and a very small crossbow appeared in the same
hand. At the same time she fired his way.

The dart hit its mark, and the warrior stumbled backwards,
not completely falling. The dark mistress jumped forward and
once again using her levitation abilities turned herself
into a flying missile, sword leading and crossbow shooting
another dart. The tall elf barely dodged the second dart,
and managed to parry the momentum of the blade, by
sacrificing his balance and stumbling forward some more. His
peace was broken by an expression of awe wild on his smooth
face lines. The warrioress snickered as she saw it, content
by her surprise. But the archer quickly regained his footing
and prepared himself for the next assault, which was not as
perfectly aimed, but more meant for a killing blow. Now it
was her turn to be surprised, as it appeared the warrior was
readier than she thought. They continued their dance.

The battle will go on for centuries. Neither will win,
neither will lose. The draw and her deadly surprises did not
bring the stout elven warrior down, for his centuries of
patience and training readied him for this moment, although
his own strikes did not seem to falter her own malicious
intent, as she has rigorously trained in the art of war,
more in her lesser ears of life than his centuries, for her
main need to survive. Anger and hatred roared in them both,
but they did not let that interfere with their craft. For
they were blood enemies, and neither shall step out of it
alive.