| A squad of soldiers walked somewhat cautiously down a road. They were armed with swords, and spears, and bows. There were 30 in all. The captain was talking to one, saying "keep a double watch Tonkinor, the elves have been seen reg-" he never finished his sentance. An arrow flew out of nowhere, catching him in the throat. He died gasping for breath.
"How many were killed?" asked the king. 22 was the reply. "Two bowmen and about seven swordsmen managed to survive. Somehow, they managed to kill the elves that ambushed." The king released a heavy sigh. "Then it obviously is not safe for my daughter to return Ichabod". "No sire." was the reply. "We have to put an end to this. The elves are attacking us unprovoked, and we have done nothing to give them the slightest reason to attack us. This can only end in war. In situations like this, diplomacy will never work."
* * *
Many miles away, a boy was crouched down, stalking a deer. A twig snapped, in what seemed unusually loudly for such a quiet day, as he crept forward. The deer raised it's head, spotted him, and ran away. The boy pushed himself up. He knew it would be impossible to kill it now. Even if he hadn't scared it of when he did, the arrow likely wouldn't have brought it down. At least he had enough rabbits he had snared that the trip hadn't been completly futile.
He kicked a rock, but only succceded in jamming his right big toe. He was almost seventeen, and had longish black hair that was close to needing to be cut again, and gold colored eyes. He was tan and muscled from working on a farm all his life. He was wearing black deerskin clothes, made from a type of deer was found only in the Crassian mountains. Janickor lived in the foothills of the Crassian mountains.
Janickor finally decided that he had enough meat that he could go home now. He didn't know at the time that the war was coming, and that it would sweep him, along with thousands of other boys his age into an unknown fate.