Kilarhas hid crouched behind a boulder, breathing heavily. He did not know where the creatures who had attacked him were, but he knew that they would not be leaving him alone.
The blue-skinned elf had been ambushed by a pack of goblins while on his way to a small town not far from here. He had fought well against them, but there numbers where overwhelming and he had had to make a run for it. They had chased him, and he was much faster than them, but he knew they were still looking.
His sharp ears heard the rustle of leaves behind him and he sound, his staff raised and the words of a spell on his lips.
The goblins burst through the brush with cries of war. Kilharas muttered a spell and a wall of ice blasted the goblins back, killing a few of them, but not enough.
There were now about twenty goblins fighting at Kilharas. The elf swung his staff around, the tip alight with the flaming gem twisted into the wood. The enchanted fire set three goblins on fire and hit another on the head, sending it falling to the ground. As he turned to fight the next wave he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He instinctively lashed out, hitting the goblin who had just sunk its dagger into his flesh. He performed another spell, freezing three of the goblins who were now attacking him. He fought well, but he received another wound, to his arm this time, before there were only five goblins left. He was fighting four of them and hadn't noticed that the fifth had sneaked around him when his most dreadful wound was procured.
He blasted back two of the goblins and stabbed one with his dagger when he felt a chill run up his spine. He spun around, but too late, the goblin's dagger sunk into his side. He slashed at the goblin with his dagger, killing it, and he then disposed of the last goblin.
He leaned on his staff, blood pouring from his woulds.
And he ran.
He knew that the wound in his stomach was not vital, he had learned much of elf anatomy while a prince, but the blood loss from his three major wounds would surly kill him.
Unless he got to the town first.
He put a hand over his side wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. A cut on the top of his head ran blood into his face and coloring his silver hair red.
There! The town ahead, if he could just make it, then maybe, maybe he had a chance.
He ran into the town, stopping with a jerk. He fell to his hands and knees, his blood flowing onto the cobblestones. He coughed and fell to the street, unconscious.