3rd of Vhalar, Arc 721
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A blur of dark cerulean wings passed amongst the nearby buildings. Folded naturally behind the avriel, his descent was an act of agility and the use of aerial speed. Speed that had to be drawn from descending much higher within the skies above the temple of Syroa where avriel were known to gather and honor the immortal with their gathering tributes.
Night was an abysmal darkness in the skies above the illuminated terraces that lined the nearby buildings. Terraces which were lined by the growth of greenery and the hang of metal and stone balconies. A darkness that was cast away by the light of the city of Athart where some were still awake, as well as where the guards kept their watch upon the enslaved and free who walked the streets below upon cobbled, and earthen streets.
Streets where even now a handful of rebellious humans had gathered to violate the walls of the temple with vandalism. Those of the Shadow wings had been called upon just the prior day to aid with the guarding of the city. Something was amiss, and was being stirred in the masses of humans during the day. Something was about to happen, or had already happened and was remaining too discreet to be understood by the avriel.
The handful of humans below were defacing the wall of the temple. Coroth was too late to prevent a good many letters if not an entire word of human elk to be written along its surface, yet as he descended upon the handful of men, arms were taken up. One of them seemed to be the leader, and rushed the others to keep the avriel busy whilst the man who was writing something on the walls with paint was rushed to continue with a fester of hands being shaken into the air before him in a show of haste and adrenalin as fear and anger seethed through his pale aged features.
Two of the humans took up their bow and arrow, weapons which were hard to come by within the city of Athart, yet were hidden away by the rebelling human. The sound of twining strings being stretched as they were pulled taut sounded, but the humans were only so skilled in their use.
Coroth was already armed with his arsenal of weapons and the leathers of his armor. When he was on duty as a warrior of the Shadow Wing, all that was suitable for combat was brought with him. Even now, a long shield was passively wielded upon his left arm. Its' weight was something he was growing used to flying with, even now he shifted the angled top of it to not influence his decent by keeping it close to his body, and angled towards himself. *
Only a few moments passed before the first of the arrows arced through the air, objects the avriel was skilled with himself, and could trace their trajectorial path towards him in a way that he chose to avoid. A twist of his wings behind him was drawn from their muscled rootings, he would evasively fly beyond the arce through the air that the arrows would follow. Avoiding them, if by mere inches from his shifting feathers.*
The humans below did not have enough time to draw further arrows into use, the avriel was getting too close, to quickly. Another maneuver with the wringing of his darkening wings caused him to twirl into an angle that would bring him more horizontal to the ground so when he would come upon them, he would still be in flight, and not hit the ground when he'd pass by. *
In that following moment, his spear was shifted beneath his arm, tightening it as he had in past, until the blood squelch of its' metal tip buried itself within the flesh of the first of his prey below as he passed by. The other archer attempted to fire his bow at near point blank, but his timing was off, or perhaps something caused him to loose the arrow too soon as the blur of his form passed by. The menace of claws in the air a strickening of fear to the mans' apprehension. Causing the second to duck in place to avoid such close proximity in the avriels passing.
The aged leader of the group half hunkered down against the wall himself out of fear and spiteful protest that was kept silent by shivering lips. The avriel was watched as he flew by, only to retract into the air with a blitherance of its' wings suddenly snapping outwards to draw it into a complete menacing halt. The taper of clawed feet scratched upon the stones of the road below as Coroth landed, and began approaching the demoralized humans with haste still coursing through his blood.
A blade was released from its sheathed home behind him, the sound of metal links unsnapping biting into the air before it was hungrily vented forth above him with an arce of his arms movement. Muscles rippled along his descending bicep as the shimmering blade reflected the light of a torch that had been dropped by one of the men moments prior.
With a rush of steps, the avriel leapt into the air to pounce upon the remaining man who had been vigilant with the bow, the only one remaining who had attacked him. The second had already fallen to the ground nearby, with the avriels spear jutting forth from his upper chest, giving the spear grounds to keep it jutting in the air in silent salute to it's use.
The second man was in a rush for his life, his own sword being drawn forth from its scabbard at his side was raised just in time to parry the descending blade that would have ended his life. It would not keep him alive for long. For as soon as the blade was parried, the hilt of the avriels sword came lunging downwards to send the pommel brutally smashing into the mans' face. Sending him spiraling off of his feet to the ground below with a spray of blood spewing forth into the air in its wake. *
The blade was leveled, shimmering metal directly pointing to the aged man whilst the painter abjectly remained frozen in fear with a paralyzed lack of comprehension of what to do to prevent his own death at that point.
"What do you do that would require your lives?!" Blitherance spewed forth from Coroths lips, hatred that he was attacked by these humans, and an indignant air of superiority over them tainted the air that sent forth his words.
The aged man dropped onto his knees in pity, his hands clasping before him as he begged with clutchingly white knuckles, and a face that wore a smug frown as he made himself humbled before the avriel warrior.
"..She is dead! It is to be known by all!" The aged man spewed such words forth, a declarance of whom was not deduced, yet the temple of Syroa was what was being painted upon so late into the night. Just who he was talking about muddled the avriels thoughts. Thoughts that had no part or acceptance that he would at all be referring to the immortal herself.
"…it may be best if you are interrogated..your under arrest.." -‡-