Apparently, I never published this… Oops!
The elf crouches by the water, out of place in the vibrant landscape, a shadow of black on the shore. Looking carefully, he sighs and pulls himself completely into being, feeling the air solidify around him instead of passing through his form. Crouched, he dips his hand into the water, letting the slight current run through his fingers.
He leans in, cupping his hands and drinking the crisp water. As the breeze rustles his hair, he throws his head back, face breaking into a wide smile and laughing.
“Gods it’s been too long since I’ve done this,” he says to the wilderness.
He draws his sword, a delicate black blade hanging casually from his side, giving it a few flourishes on the small beach. His movements are precise, swift and agile, the sword merely an extension of his being. It’s the kind of fluidity gained only by long centuries of practice and dedication to the art of staying alive.
Halfway through a riposte, the elf pauses, the singing of the wind a different tune. His eyes widen for a moment before he ducks, an arrow singing through the air where his head was. He scowls, letting his corporeal form slip from this dimension, his spectral self remaining.
“That was rude!” he yells at the forest.
He waves as the group of adventurers break from the treeline, smirking as he blinks out of their sight, invisible to their untrained eyes.
“Try harder next time,” he whispers in their ears as he drifts by.
His laughter rings out across the shore, there for a moment then gone, just like Cyrus himself.
“Maybe next time, heroes!”