"Please," he rasps. "Help-" Kolli doesn't know who he's begging for help from. He's stranded in the middle of his village's forest, in a clearing, drowning in the sunlight. A Dark Elf's weakness. He claws at his throat, his muscles agonizingly tense. The sunlight burns on his skin. It hurts. "Make it stop," he gasps out, falling onto his side. No one's nearby. He'll be turned to stone before anyone can find him.

The Dark Elves chose to stay out of the Snow-Aquatic Elf war the moment it was announced thirty or forty-something years ago. They preferred to stay in the darkness of their forest, to abide in the shadows.

While hunting for the village, he'd taken his spear and perhaps wandered a bit too far away. Now he can't move out of the sun without feeling like he's losing a limb. "Ó mikli Chaos...Hjálpaðu mér," he murmurs. The prey he'd been hunting that had hidden behind a tree was gone by now.

In a few moments, he'd be gone, too.

He manages to get onto his knees, gasping for air. It's a wonder Kolli hasn't turned to stone yet.