A band of elite mercenaries and their leader ventured into the Sylvereen Deep Forest — a place no one had ever returned from. They weren't the first to try, and like the others before them, the odds were grim. But this time, they weren't alone. Their client had assigned a second group to guide them. With this support, they managed to navigate a deadly passage and breach the barrier guarding the heart of the forest — the true Sylvereen.
They arrived at the Sylvereen Field. According to intel from their client, the Sylvereen elves held a ceremonial rite here every few years — a ritual that led toward the river's heart. Off to their left, several meters away, a waterfall marked the edge of that sacred path.
So they planned carefully. Their client's orders were clear: capture every last elf. They hid on both sides of the field, concealed deep in the bushes. Once the elves emerged from the forest, they'd surround them and cut off all escape routes. Simple plan. Now, all they had to do was wait — still and silent.
While they hid in the bushes, a scrawny member of the group — a snake tattoo coiled across his face — crept up to the leader, who stood watch for any movement. "Hey boss," he muttered in a creepy tone, "We want a piece of those elves?"
"I want them too, but our client pays handsomely, " The leader said. He turned around and crouched and told the tattooed man and those nearby about why these elves were so special.
The client behind the job is wealthy merchant — rich, but dirty in how he deals with business. That isn't different to the mercenary group as they too, accept this types of requests. He works deep in the underground trade, known as the Dark Market. His biggest profits come from selling exotic goods… including other races, auctioned off as slaves to the highest bidder.
That's why he hired them: to capture the elusive Sylvereen elves.
Hunting them by normal means was a nightmare. Every attempt cost him men, money, and resources — all for nothing. The Sylvereen elves were experts at defending their territory. Their location is secure, well-hidden, and mercilessly protected. Anyone who enters uninvited never comes back alive.
So instead, the only viable option was to strike during a specific window — when the Sylvereen elves were at their most vulnerable: the ceremonial rite of passage. Not much was known about the ritual, but past expeditions confirmed it held deep significance.
Only the younglings took part, accompanied by two or three adults at most. An easy target — or so they thought.
There was another reason the merchant hired them — one tied to a suspicious figure the mercenary leader had heard whispers about. Rumor had it the Sylvereen elves were different from their kin… gifted with abilities others didn't possess.
This figure — unnamed and shadowy — had supposedly provided the merchant with extra reinforcements. Why? No one knew for sure. Maybe he wanted a share of the elves himself. Perhaps something else entirely.
Either way, his involvement made the whole job feel heavier — like there was more at stake than anyone was saying.
The leader froze — he heard footsteps.
A man nearby, crouched low but peeking out, suddenly tensed. His eyes locked onto something in the distance. "They're here," he whispered, signaling to the others.
The leader stood.
Weapons were gripped.
Breaths held.
They were getting themselves ready.