Wayward, Part 1

	Rinteller Moss - Wayward
	by Anon

	How to stay alive in an environment outside the confines and comforts of civilization is a concept drilled into the soldiers of most worlds. Useful in situations ranging from working behind enemy lines or running reconnaissance, to separation from a unit or the days following escaping captivity, survivalist training should have been a rudimentary concept to Rinteller. Unfortunately, nobody on Ravnica could have been prepared for his current predicament.
	It was a forest so dense that it eluded fathom to him. Even parks that a person can't see across can still be relied on to fit neatly into a city plan, with rigid boundaries just over the next little mound of dirt or around the trunk of a great tree. Not so here. Behind each great oak was another thousand. Even Conclave druids, so tied to nature as they were, would likely get lost here, Rinteller swore.
	The rags he wore from his prison weren't meant to weather the wear and tear of a long hike, as every stray branch gently tugged and frayed at the cheap fabric. Even after two days, it had becoming little more than a soiled rag. The sandals he had fared better, much to his surprise, but even they weren't meant to carry a person through dense foliage, mud, and dirt. Not to mention the bugs that were most assuredly venomous in this place.
	Rinteller had been pushing himself for hours, and the noon sun could be seen through the gentle sway of the leaves above. Finding it as fine a time as any, he nestled himself in the root of an enormous tree and lay his head down against his forearm, the back of his palm digging into the bark a little. Though he desperately needed a drink, his need to rest his weary body was too much and he quickly found himself wandering off to sleep.
	 He dreamt of the roar of the riot, and the intense yellow heat of the iron chains binding his wrists together as he pulled them apart as if they were made from wax. He dreamt of the escape into Ravnica's undercity, and of the arrow he was a hair too late to avoid as it sunk into his shoulder. And he dreamt of the loud crack of thunder and the flurry of dust and sewer water that followed. The flurry of images raced through his mind with more clarity in sleep than they had while he'd been awake, just as they had the last time he found time to rest.
	The sound of fleet, rhythmic footsteps awoke him roughly three hours later. His eyes darted open immediately and he was on his feet in another heartbeat, desperately looking about for the source. No effort was made to hide on his part. Direct and imminent danger he could handle, and if there was even a chance some other intelligent life was out here with him, Rinteller desperately wished he would be noticed, if only for the chance of a drink.	An arrow flying out from the canopy above indicated that he had found both.
	He was luck to dodge the first arrow, ducking low, but was prepared for the second, redirecting through a tiny little sliver of space in front of him just before it sunk into his skull. Twice more he repeated with additional volleys before his unseen assailants became hesitant. Rinteller did not intend to waste such an opening, and with a quick thrust of his arm, three coiling arcs of wild blue-green lighting shot out from his fingertips, the loud crack of thunder traveling with them.
	Rinteller didn't intend to actually hit a particular target, and he hadn't. Instead, he saw three figures scattering from the smoke where his attack had found purchase, and where cinders remained. All of the fatigue and discomfort dissolved as he found himself the aggressor, and suddenly the foreign environment didn't mean as much. The enormous trees were just towers, and the branches his assailants used to reposition were just roads far above.
	His eyes began tracking one of them, a lithe humanoid who perched between a fork in one of the massive trunks. Two more arrows came his way, and two more were returned skyward. His target began moving once again, but Rinteller took the branch out from beneath their foot with another loud crack of lightning. They fell a dozen feet before clinging to the far tree using an implement he couldn't make out, and he began counting more movement out of the corner of his eye. More arrows followed, and more redirections, but in his haste he was more sloppy, unable to make his attackers hesitate anymore.
	 Rinteller was forced to run, only occasionally blind-firing electricity. He hurried through the complex root systems of the uneven forest floor, dragging his sandals through loam, dead leaves and mud alike. His pursuers didn't lose sight of him for even a second, holding every advantage over him. Before long, one of the straps on his sandals snapped, the sole falling out from under his foot, and he tripped, falling face-first against a root. The impact dazed him as he hit the ground, finally settling on his back.
	Nearly a dozen figures moved about above him at various heights, all with their bows at the ready. One walked right up to him, and finally Rinteller got a good look.
	Were it not for the face paint, she would have been identical to a Silhana elf of the Selesnya. Her armor was far simpler than the garb they wore, but of equally fine construction. Her features were angular and defined, and her ears were pointed in a fashion just distinctly enough that Rinteller could see a difference, but there was no mistaking it. She, and all the others in the trees above, were elves.
	Rinteller had yet to be perforated, and took the pause in the action as a chance to speak up. A cough came out instead, and the elven woman above didn't flinch.
	“Where am I?”
	No response.
	“Can you understand me?”
	Again, nothing.
	“Are you Gruul clansmen?”
	A slight tilt of the head.
	“Why are you trying to kill me?”
	The woman's upper lip curled in disgust, and she placed her boot upon Rinteller's chest, pointing her bow directly at his nose. Finally she spoke, with a hard tone in her voice.
	“You violate sacred ground.”
	Not an instant after she was finished speaking, Rinteller reached up to pull the bow downward, and the elf with it. Rolling up to a standing position, he slammed her head into the same branch he'd struck moments before, drew the short sword on her belt, and hugged her close to his body, blade against her neck.
	Though no arrows came from above, he didn't linger. He had no doubts that trained marksmen such as them would be able to hit him in the skull, even with a hostage. Instead, he fired off more lighting, though not tightly coiled, but erratically, rapidly, and widespread. The noise would be deafening to the unprepared, and Rinteller took advantage, running his blade across the neck of his hostage, releasing her into the mud and moving to the other side of the enormous tree, watching where the rest of the elves had scattered to. A pair of bodies had hit the ground, and the rest were repositioning on him yet again.
	Killing them might have been a mistake, Rinteller knew, but with adrenaline and instincts running his mind, he didn't want to chance that overdue mercy would get him killed. More wild lightning bolts filled the air, splinters of wood shattering off of branches. If arrows were flying in his direction, he certainly didn't notice them, and he kept up this wild flurry until he caught signs of retreat through the smoke. He remained on guard for several minutes after that, taking cover near the freshly bloodied body of the elven woman.
	When the attackers didn't return, he went to find the other fallen bodies, dragging them all together in a little heap. One of them, a slightly taller male, was outfitted with leathers and boots that likely would have fit Rinteller, even if they would be somewhat snug.
	Finally dressed in proper gear, Rinteller stretched the fine gloves over his fingers with a small feeling of comfort. The first in months. The bow over his shoulder and the blades at his side gave him a little more security, as well, and he turned to look over the four bodies of the elves he'd killed, strewn about the base of the tree in a heap.
	Just as he turned to run, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Muttering apologetically, he began to reposition them into more dignified positions, as if their broken or cut bodies were sleeping. He payed special attention to the one he'd stripped for gear, resting him in the fetal position. Without another word, he took off at a light jog, trying to put himself as far away from battleground as possible. If he was to spend his time on the run from elves, he'd need to find a place to rest, first.