Battle Elf



The sun blazed high above the cobblestone streets of Alarindor, casting long shadows across the ancient stone towers. Screams and the clash of steel echoed through the air as the city burned. Among the chaos, one figure stood like a force of nature—Lyrielle, the Emerald Valkyrie.
Her emerald armor glimmered under the midday sun, forged from dragon scales and enchanted leaves that hummed with life. Her golden hair whipped like fire in the wind as she gripped her colossal war axe, its blade etched with runes of vengeance. Her green eyes burned with feral intensity as she faced the enemy horde surging through the gates.
They had come for blood. For conquest. For the extinction of her kin.
 But Lyrielle would give them none of it.
With a roar that shook the very marrow of men’s bones, she swung her axe in a devastating arc, cleaving through armored foes like wheat before a scythe. Blood and steel rained upon the stones as the invaders fell back, fear dawning in their eyes. Behind her, the remnants of her people rallied, hope rekindled by her unbreakable resolve.
Today, she was no mere warrior. She was vengeance incarnate, a storm of muscle and fury. And before the sun set, the invaders would learn why the bards called her the Last Leaf of the Wildwood—because when all else had fallen, she still stood, unbroken.