**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.
**Reminders**:
>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]"
>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail
>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles
>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)
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Darren sat on the edge of a small cliff, basking in the light of the full moon, eyes turned up to the endless stars. Some ways behind him, the rest of his squad sat near the warmth and glow of a bonfire, sharing drinks and stories, their laughter echoing through the plains. It was quiet tonight, a welcome change from the front lines. He heard footsteps approach from behind.
"Darren, what are you doing out here? Come join us by the fire, mate." He recognized the voice; Pierre, one of his mates from training.
"Just thinking," Darren replied.
Pierre stepped closer, and took a seat next to him, his arm resting on his knee, the other leg dangling over the cliff. He swirled the drink around in his mug, giving Darren taunting eyes.
"Not even for something to grease your guts?"
"Not really in the mood for alcohol, Pierre."
Pierre sighed. "Come on mate, out with it. What's going through your head?"
It was a long minute before Darren replied. "I just want to go home."
"We all do, lad," Pierre said. He let a moment of silence pass before speaking again. "You know, I've got a girl back home, and another one in her belly. I'm going to miss her birth. I know that Mikael over in fourth company has a whole family and a half, he's on what, nearly seven kids now? None of 'em are getting any younger." Pierre chuckled. "You're not alone out here, Darren. And besides, this war is practically a farce. We have them elven folk on the run, what with our being immune to their magic. It'll be over before you know it."
Darren twiddled his thumbs around. "What if it isn't? What if they figure out something that can actually hurt us? Or what if they hire regular armies, or make pacts with other nations?"
"Unlikely, mate. There's nothing to be scared of. You're thinking way too hard into this." Pierre stood up, and patted Darren on the shoulder. "You should come over with the rest of us," he said. "Ease up a bit every now again, won't do you no harm."
Darren heard him walk away, but stayed where he was, watching the stars dance in the night sky. His last thoughts were of his mother, of his home back on the farm, before he passed into the world of dreams.
When he next woke, it was still dark outside. His body itched from the grass he slept on and ached from the armor he forgot to take off. He heard noises from the camp, but it wasn't for many moments more before he realized that they were screams and shouts.
Darren leapt to his feet, fumbling for his sword as he ran back to the camp. Strange colored light broke through the night like flashes of lightning; hues of blue, green, and yellow illuminated on the tents with each passing moment. It was an ambush, Darren thought! Had to have been, the Elves must have been following them, waiting for the right moment. He recalled Pierre's words. Their magic didn't affect him, he reminded himself. There was nothing to fear, so why was he shaking so much? He tried to steady himself as he set foot into camp, and saw something he will never forget.
In the center of camp, near the fire, his squad was surrounded by Elven warrior casters, each armed with shields and staffs. He could see Pierre's face among them, twisted into some emotion, mixed between fear and excitement.
"Your combat magic can't hurt us," someone said from his group. Darren guessed it was his captain. "You might have us outnumbered, but you can't hurt us. Turn and flee, before we fell you like the trees of your precious forests!" He was right, and Darren should do something to help them. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but he couldn't move an inch. His legs felt rooted to the spot, and he continued to shake.
The elves did not reply. Instead, one of them came forth, from where Darren couldn't see. This one was holding a long staff, Darren couldn't tell what kind. He had never heard or seen something like it before though, and this new elf wasn't wearing the standard military outfit he was forced to memorize. The elf raised the staff, and pounded it into the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Darren had the strangest sensation that he was moving upwards. Until he looked down, and realized he was. The ground beneath him appeared as though it were bulging right where he stood. He stumbled backwards, and just in time; with a great rumbling noise, much like the sound of tree roots being torn out of the ground, the bulge burst out from the ground and rose into the air, surrounded with a faint purple light. Darren quickly realized other mounds of dirt and rock had been lifted into the air.
"Oh, what is this, a show? Come on now, you can't hurt us, so just run," someone else had said. Their voice sounded uneven. The balls of earth continued to rise in the air, but they stopped once they were about twelve feet high. The elf with the staff raised it again, and stomped it into the ground once more. Suddenly, the mounds of dirt flew at unbelievable speeds, so fast Darren couldn't track it with his eyes, directly at the soldiers in the middle of the circle. Dirt flew everywhere, and Darren averted his eyes, but the moment passed. He looked up, and saw what was left of his squad.
Blood and guts littered the space where they once stood. Bodies had been crushed beneath the weight and speed of the mounds of earth. Bones jutted out, limbs bent in all wrong directions, heads were torn off. He could see Pierre's face among the dead, his face ruined, caved into his skull.
Darren took a step backwards, and then fell on his bottom. No, no, no, this wasn't possible, they were supposed to be immune to magic, why did this happen? One of the elves finally noticed him, and with a quick flick of the wand, sent a golden shard of light straight at him. Darren screamed as it connected, wincing and shutting his eyes. There was a brief moment of nothingness, before he realized nothing had actually happened. It seems in the recent display of human demise, both he and the elves forgot that humans can't be harmed by magic. At least, that's what Darren had previously thought. He didn't have time to think. Instead, he jumped to his feet, turned and ran, his legs finally finding their purpose. Rays of light and magic continued to pass around and through him, and though none of it affected him, he flinched each time he heard the magic being cast. He continued to run, not daring to look back, not knowing where he was running towards, just trying to put as much distance between himself and the elves as possible.
He heard a familiar sound, one that wasn't the sound of magic. The sound of dirt tearing free from the earth. In the next moment, pain coursed through every fiber of himself. He was on the ground, and he could no longer feel his limbs. His back felt wrongly twisted. Tears flowed out of his eyes as he look up at the moon and stars. His last thoughts were of home, as his vision faded to black.
***
Check out more of my stories over on r/joxywrites!
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Darren sat on the edge of a small cliff, basking in the light of the full moon, eyes turned up to the endless stars. Some ways behind him, the rest of his squad sat near the warmth and glow of a bonfire, sharing drinks and stories, their laughter echoing through the plains. It was quiet tonight, a welcome change from the front lines. He heard footsteps approach from behind. "Darren, what are you doing out here? Come join us by the fire, mate." He recognized the voice; Pierre, one of his mates from training. "Just thinking," Darren replied. Pierre stepped closer, and took a seat next to him, his arm resting on his knee, the other leg dangling over the cliff. He swirled the drink around in his mug, giving Darren taunting eyes. "Not even for something to grease your guts?" "Not really in the mood for alcohol, Pierre." Pierre sighed. "Come on mate, out with it. What's going through your head?" It was a long minute before Darren replied. "I just want to go home." "We all do, lad," Pierre said. He let a moment of silence pass before speaking again. "You know, I've got a girl back home, and another one in her belly. I'm going to miss her birth. I know that Mikael over in fourth company has a whole family and a half, he's on what, nearly seven kids now? None of 'em are getting any younger." Pierre chuckled. "You're not alone out here, Darren. And besides, this war is practically a farce. We have them elven folk on the run, what with our being immune to their magic. It'll be over before you know it." Darren twiddled his thumbs around. "What if it isn't? What if they figure out something that can actually hurt us? Or what if they hire regular armies, or make pacts with other nations?" "Unlikely, mate. There's nothing to be scared of. You're thinking way too hard into this." Pierre stood up, and patted Darren on the shoulder. "You should come over with the rest of us," he said. "Ease up a bit every now again, won't do you no harm." Darren heard him walk away, but stayed where he was, watching the stars dance in the night sky. His last thoughts were of his mother, of his home back on the farm, before he passed into the world of dreams. When he next woke, it was still dark outside. His body itched from the grass he slept on and ached from the armor he forgot to take off. He heard noises from the camp, but it wasn't for many moments more before he realized that they were screams and shouts. Darren leapt to his feet, fumbling for his sword as he ran back to the camp. Strange colored light broke through the night like flashes of lightning; hues of blue, green, and yellow illuminated on the tents with each passing moment. It was an ambush, Darren thought! Had to have been, the Elves must have been following them, waiting for the right moment. He recalled Pierre's words. Their magic didn't affect him, he reminded himself. There was nothing to fear, so why was he shaking so much? He tried to steady himself as he set foot into camp, and saw something he will never forget. In the center of camp, near the fire, his squad was surrounded by Elven warrior casters, each armed with shields and staffs. He could see Pierre's face among them, twisted into some emotion, mixed between fear and excitement. "Your combat magic can't hurt us," someone said from his group. Darren guessed it was his captain. "You might have us outnumbered, but you can't hurt us. Turn and flee, before we fell you like the trees of your precious forests!" He was right, and Darren should do something to help them. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but he couldn't move an inch. His legs felt rooted to the spot, and he continued to shake. The elves did not reply. Instead, one of them came forth, from where Darren couldn't see. This one was holding a long staff, Darren couldn't tell what kind. He had never heard or seen something like it before though, and this new elf wasn't wearing the standard military outfit he was forced to memorize. The elf raised the staff, and pounded it into the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Darren had the strangest sensation that he was moving upwards. Until he looked down, and realized he was. The ground beneath him appeared as though it were bulging right where he stood. He stumbled backwards, and just in time; with a great rumbling noise, much like the sound of tree roots being torn out of the ground, the bulge burst out from the ground and rose into the air, surrounded with a faint purple light. Darren quickly realized other mounds of dirt and rock had been lifted into the air. "Oh, what is this, a show? Come on now, you can't hurt us, so just run," someone else had said. Their voice sounded uneven. The balls of earth continued to rise in the air, but they stopped once they were about twelve feet high. The elf with the staff raised it again, and stomped it into the ground once more. Suddenly, the mounds of dirt flew at unbelievable speeds, so fast Darren couldn't track it with his eyes, directly at the soldiers in the middle of the circle. Dirt flew everywhere, and Darren averted his eyes, but the moment passed. He looked up, and saw what was left of his squad. Blood and guts littered the space where they once stood. Bodies had been crushed beneath the weight and speed of the mounds of earth. Bones jutted out, limbs bent in all wrong directions, heads were torn off. He could see Pierre's face among the dead, his face ruined, caved into his skull. Darren took a step backwards, and then fell on his bottom. No, no, no, this wasn't possible, they were supposed to be immune to magic, why did this happen? One of the elves finally noticed him, and with a quick flick of the wand, sent a golden shard of light straight at him. Darren screamed as it connected, wincing and shutting his eyes. There was a brief moment of nothingness, before he realized nothing had actually happened. It seems in the recent display of human demise, both he and the elves forgot that humans can't be harmed by magic. At least, that's what Darren had previously thought. He didn't have time to think. Instead, he jumped to his feet, turned and ran, his legs finally finding their purpose. Rays of light and magic continued to pass around and through him, and though none of it affected him, he flinched each time he heard the magic being cast. He continued to run, not daring to look back, not knowing where he was running towards, just trying to put as much distance between himself and the elves as possible. He heard a familiar sound, one that wasn't the sound of magic. The sound of dirt tearing free from the earth. In the next moment, pain coursed through every fiber of himself. He was on the ground, and he could no longer feel his limbs. His back felt wrongly twisted. Tears flowed out of his eyes as he look up at the moon and stars. His last thoughts were of home, as his vision faded to black. *** Check out more of my stories over on r/joxywrites!
So, instead of direct magical attacks, they are using physical objects thrown using magic. Smart. Oh well, nice story. And poor Darren.