Pvt. K'Ral Burnfaire is a hunter by lineage; from a long line of eladrin whose grand pursuits tracked strange and fantastical creatures to the depths of the feywild. In war, there had been similar glories - like the monstrous dragons whose summoning they were here to sabotage, or the mechanical monsters manufactured by the wild minds of men. This... was not that. This wasn't even execution. It was like firing into a pen of braying goats, or caged birds. It demanded no skill. It was deeply inglorious. And it presented no suitable alternative. But he was not a hunter, anymore. Hunters go on hunts. Soldiers go to war.

With a flash of elven dexterity that would be admirable to anyone who could afford to observe it, and who was not a recipient of its effects, he racked the bolt on his father's rifle and squeezed off another round before the spent brass had completed a full revolution in the air.

Spoiler: Bang!
Show
Roll is in the Roll thread. K'ral hits and ices another soldier! Two fresh, one wounded, seven dead now.


The round strikes one of the Kreigers in the throat, forcing him to drop the body of a colleague he had been holding by the armpits - perhaps as a shield, perhaps as a futile effort to save the dead man. The throat-shot warrior, a human with the faintest whispers of chin fluff, leans against the rail with wide eyes, clutching at his neck. He is dead - just seven or eight seconds away from confronting the fact.